aph Titanic
by KaoticWhim
Summary: Japan never realized how important Italy was to him until he was gone. On a relunctant journey across the sea, he finds that maybe they are closer than he thought. Crossover with Titanic. Roughly.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

_**April 10**__**th**__**, 1951**_

It was huge. It was glorious. Seagulls cried above, circling the sun. Nothing he had ever seen could have prepared him for this. Such vastness was surely created by the gods themselves.

It was unfortunate he would have to board it under these circumstances…

Japan craned his head back to get a better view of the massive ship bobbing in the water. Sunlight gleamed off its bow, dancing across the water. Its emblazoned name, _H.M.S. Titanic_, fit it well. He would have been pleasantly surprised, maybe even enjoyed the prospect of the ship carrying him across the sea. But the thought of the destination would always be in the back of his mind.

"Hey! Kiku!"

He reluctantly turned to face America, who was walking rapidly toward him with a wide smile. Next to him was Germany, wearing a characteristically stern expression.

"Mr. Honda," he said firmly, hoisting the suitcases he carried up a bit higher, "The ship will leave within minutes."

Japan stared at him emotionlessly, secretly displeased with the usage of his true name. Germany fidgeted at the piercing gaze. America seemed oblivious to the sudden tension.

"Kiku!" he said loud enough for the crowd a few feet away to hear, and he didn't even seem to notice the wince Japan gave, "Come on! We don't want to be late! You know how England is! Old man can't handle the idea of late, or "tardy"! Haha!"

America laughed and slapped the silent nation on the back. He ruffled his hair affectionately and ran up the gangplank to the ship, causing many people to give him withering looks.

Japan slowly relaxed the jaw he had been clenching, watching Germany pass by. The tall blonde frowned at him, and leaned forward.

"Mr. Honda, _do not_ make Mr. America upset or angry in any way. Do not do anything you will regret."

Japan's eyes flashed. Before he could speak, Germany swiftly added, "Remember what has transpired to make this possible."

With that, he readjusted the bags and tramped up the walk. Japan looked back at the cobblestones of dry land and gazed out unseeingly at the little houses of the harbor city. There was a strange feeling in his chest, heart taut. His throat felt constricting tight. He sighed and dismissed the emotion, and turned to board.

This is what happened when he had lost. When you lost, you gave in.

And the first thing you lost was the recognition of your nationality.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One: Florence**

Hundreds of miles away, in a little Italian pub, a certain Italian was facing a much different predicament.

The said establishment had run completely out of one of the necessities of life.

There was not a spot of pasta, noodles, or other starchy grain to be found.

To Feliciano Vargas, otherwise known as Italy, this was of great concern.

"Are you sure?" he asked the bartender. The bartender was a large, rather hairy man with an ugly squint. He glared narrowly at Italy. "I mean, did you check the cupboards? Sometimes they're aaaaaall the waaaaay in the back…"

The bartender smashed down the glass he had been previously rubbing clean hard on the worn counter.

"I told you no!"

"You ought to be careful with that, ve~" Italy pointed out helpfully. "It's glass."

The man rolled his eyes and scrubbed harder.

"Now, what about the emergency supply? You have one somewhere, right? I myself passed that law…"

"What?" The bartender looked flustered. "Look, will you quit it!"

Italy put on an innocent face.

"I'm Feliciano Vargas. Doesn't that make any difference to you?" he said softly.

"No," the man snapped. "And don't you pull the country card out on me. Had some Frenchman do that to me earlier."

"I'm hundreds of years older than you…"

"Just. Leave." The bartender pointed a thick finger at the door.

Italy slumped, defeated. If only his boss was around…

Oh. Wait. He was. He was, in fact, a rotting corpse hanging upside down from a tree not far off with a gunshot wound in the face.

Oh, well. Italy tried not to think about the unpleasantries of war. He had warned him to surrender earlier, and didn't listen. That was what you got for not paying heed to the master of the white flag himself. He skipped off to a corner to join the suddenly forming crowd there.

"What's everyone looking at, ve~?" he asked, bobbing up in an attempt to see.

Then, a familiar chuckle sounded next to him. It was followed by a small sob.

Italy turned around, coming face to face with a flushed, very obviously drunken Frenchman.

"Oh, _mio fratello_ France!" Italy immediately went to hug him. The man blinked blearily at him, his blonde hair mussed and crisp uniform wrinkly and spotted with tears. He sniffed.

"_Bonsoir, _Italia," he answered. His speech was slightly slurred. Big teardrops formed on the end of his large nose.

"What's wrong?" Italy asked worriedly.

"It's nothing…" France threw his head back dramatically. "Actually, well, I got a little drunk, because I was celebrating mine and _Angleterre's_ success with the ship, but mostly mine, and started to gamble with that man over there-" France gestured at a middle-aged man across the room, sitting at a table, "—and accidentally bet my pass for the ship. Now that stupid England will have the excuse he wanted to toss me off the ship and take all the credit! Ah, woe is me! _Mon Dieu!"_

France began to sob heavily into Italy's shirt, which Italy himself did not really care for. But he didn't dare say it out loud, only patted his back awkwardly.

"It's alright, Big Brother France…," he cooed, then a sudden thought struck him. "Ve, if you helped work on _Signore_ England's boat thing, then why are you in Italy?"

"I _designed _it," said France, leaving off blowing his snot all over Italy's shirt, "I mailed the designs to him, and helped build some of the parts. Then I was planning to cross the channel to meet England at the ship to board tomorrow morning. Now, of course, I can't anymore."

He returned to blowing his nose on the fabric, much to Italy's silent chagrin. He seemed deep in thought, fingering the little stray curl on the side of his head.

"What if I got the pass back for you?" he suddenly asked. "Would you take me along? On the ship?"

France hiccupped drearily.

"If you can do it, anything."

"I don't have any money," lamented Italy. "Nothing. I'm stone broke from the war. I'm surprised I'm not sick right now."

A brilliant idea hit him. He bolted up, striding purposefully toward the dark table, the table where the man reclined. His face was hidden under the wide brim of his hat, which was covered in fluffy yellow fishing lures.

"I challenge you," Italy stated a little overdramatically.

The man lifted his head, and Italy could see his red eyes flash.

"Kesesese….what do you bet?" he posed, voice deeper than Italy expected.

Italy took a deep breath and squeezed shut his eyes, grabbing hold his curl.

With a small cry of pain, he yanked it out in one swift movement. It fell to the table, and the man on the opposite side went silent.

"I bet Florence!" Italy proclaimed triumphantly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Recant**

Japan avoided America as much as he could, moving all over the boat and diving behind anything he could find as soon as he saw America coming his way. He also did his best to hide from Germany, and was grateful for the vastness of the ship.

He ended up the main ballroom, and was admiring the various tapestries and sculptures hanging from the walls. They were lovely and well-made, depicting various ocean scenes.

"Must have cost a fortune," he mumbled, running sensitive fingers down the hand-woven fabric.

"It did," a voice answered him, and Japan instinctively leapt back and looked around wildly for a hiding place.

"Oh, E-England-san!" a wave of relief washed over him, and he relaxed. "I…I thought…"

"That I was America?" England snickered, removing his hat and rubbing at his head.

"That dolt is up on deck right now, and he's looking to see if you fell over the railing."

"I'm sorry for the trouble he is causing you," Japan said quietly. England shrugged.

"I am only concerned for you. He's not exactly a caring or careful person. Living in the same house as him would drive me bloody crazy."

Japan nodded absently, and they both stared up at the central tapestry. It was made of blue-green threads, detailing waves crashing on a snow-white shore of sand. The sky was delicately woven of soft colors, and displaying a vivid blue sky with splashes of aurora pink and all the other colors of the sunset. Two small, unidentifiable figures were standing on a black rock overlooking the sea.

"Lovely tapestry, isn't it?" England said, breaking the silence. "I found it in India a few hundred years ago."

"I've always wanted to be on an island," Japan whispered. "Somewhere else. Somewhere where I could relax my tired old bones and sleep on the soft sand, where I didn't have to worry about anything."

England remained mute as Japan spoke, not wanting to disrupt him. Japan almost never opened up, and this was a rare moment.

"Somewhere…where I could care only about myself. Somewhere where I can be me, whatever that is now, and be free."

"We all want that, Japan," England sighed. "And I don't know if any of our kind will ever get it."

"Humans are blessed," Japan muttered under his breath, and he changed the subject.

"Why is this ship named _Titanic_?"

England replaced his hat on his head, turning it so the star button flashed.

"It's named after the 1911 ship, the one that sank when it was supposed to be unsinkable. It's an exact replica, except we fixed all the screws this time." He laughed.

Japan remained as serious as ever. "Isn't that asking for something bad to happen, England-san?"

England shrugged. "I seriously doubt it. We're much more advanced than we were back then. We have a computer system that's connected to every part of the ship, to every screw and plank, and it will alert us to anything that's amiss and help us solve it."

Japan opened his mouth to speak, then jerked as heavy footsteps bounded down the stairs.

"Kiku! I found you!"

Japan tried to control his body from running. "A-America-kun!"

America jumped over the banister halfway down, landing with a loud slam that made England hiss in annoyance.

"I was looking for you everywhere!" he exclaimed, and Japan involuntarily backed up. "Where were you? I must have gone over the entire ship! Ha-ha, were you avoiding me or something? Just kidding!"

Japan could feel his exasperation returning. He took a deep breath.

"I _was_ avoiding you," he said, and America raised an eyebrow at the statement, "I don't want you near me for this trip, understand? You act as though everything is all right, and it is not! Until we reach the coast of your country, keep well away from me."

America looked at him, and there was a static awkward hush. England looked as though he was holding his breath as America finally came forward.

"Aw, Kiku…" he said, and his voice was almost sad. But it was a false sadness, a pretense. Japan could see it behind his glasses in his eyes.

"You don't really mean that…do you? I wouldn't force you to do anything you don't want to…I'll call my boss and tell him its off, okay? You should have told me earlier…what a shame, I thought we weren't at war anymore…"

Japan balled his fists. He breathed out slowly between his teeth, knowing the veiled meaning behind his words.

"It's not off," he finally said reluctantly. The mood America exerted changed instantly.

"Wow, really? That's cool! I forgive you and all, and it will be like it never happened, okay? I know you didn't mean it! I'm cool that way…how about you and me go up to the restaurant and get ice cream or something? I'll pay for you as a treat!"

Something snapped in Japan, and before he could stop himself, his fist connected with America's nose. His glasses flew into the air.

"I'm not doing this for you or me," Japan hissed in unusual anger, "I'm doing it for my people. They need this. They can't die. I have no choice. I feel them every day, I relive each and every one of their deaths and lives, their love and sorrow. Haven't you ever felt it, America? No. You only felt some of it when I bombed your Pearl Harbor in the War."

He was breathing hard, fed up with the day's events. America watched him in shocked silence.

"There will come a day, I promise you, when you will do anything to save the people under your care, the people that are the sole reason for your existence. You won't be able to take their screams, and every bullet will pass through you to them. Then, and only then, will you do anything to end the suffering."

With that, he span on his heel and departed, not caring what America thought or whether he got angry or not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Holy**

"It's huuuuge…"

"_Oui, _and it looks like we arrived just in time…"

France wiped his forehead and put down the bags containing their few belongings on the deck. He smiled at Italy bouncing all over the deck, running from one rail to the other. The Italian did an excited cartwheel across the promenade, much to the annoyance of the first-class women taking a walk. Italy laughed, and it was light and heartfelt. France was glad the boy was letting himself go a bit, especially since the war had taken such a toll. Both of Germany and Italy's bosses had pushed ahead to take over the world, despite the Allies' efforts.

Thank God above it was over.

Italy span round joyfully, throwing back his head and laughing rapturously.

"I want to live on a boat someday!" he cried, "A big boat to sail all around the world in, for my very own! I want to go everywhere without a care, with lots of pasta for—"

He bumped straight into someone, falling onto his rump with a loud _oomph_ of surprise.

He shook out his hair and looked up.

"Japan?" he asked tentatively. The said nation glared at him with a unusual vehemence.

"Italy," he answered frostily, and Italy noticed how his fists were gripping the wooden floor.

"Ve, it's so strange to find you on this boat too!" Italy got up, offering Japan his hand. "I mean, what are the chances—"

Japan refused his hand and got up himself, avoiding his eyes. "I'm going to America, Italia-kun."

Italy scratched his head.

"Um, why—"

"Mr. Honda."

They both were interrupted as Germany walked up to Japan, boots heavily creaking the floor.

His blue eyes flicked to Italy for a split second.

"Hello," he finally said stiffly. Uncharacteristically, Italy did not reply, only stared back at Germany in total silence.

He bent down and laid a gentle but firm hand on Japan's shoulder. Japan immediately tensed at the contact.

"You made America upset," he rebuked, "There's no telling what he'll do because of this. No one makes him angry, not even his own boss, and gets away with it."

"I do not care in the least, Germany-san," Japan sighed, rubbing his eyes, "I _am_ going with him, so in the end, my people are safe."

Germany shook his head vigorously. "No, he will not hurt your people. But he can do other things to make your life miserable. He may even threaten you yourself."

"When the time comes, I shall deal with it," he asserted.

"W-wait," said Italy suddenly. "Japan….is going away? Forever?"

"It's not that bad, Italy…" Japan snapped. "I'm…just going to be locked up for a few hundred years or so until America drains me of all my resources—"

Italy looked at him, wide-eyed with innocent pity.

"Oh, Japan, I'm so sorry…!"

"That's enough," Germany barked. He drew Japan away down the walkway, forcing him away from the Italian.

"I don't want you to hang around with him," he told him. "Don't even notice if he is in the same room."

Japan wrenched away.

"And why not? _You _cannot command me. Do not put yourself at the same level as America."

Germany's eyebrow twitched.

"Italy is…emotional. Impulsive. He may want to help you or do something silly. In addition, America will not be pleased to hear you talking to him. He will think of the War and your old ties."

"I'm talking to you," Japan pointed out. "And we fought together."

"Just. Do. It," Germany ordered.

Japan bit his lip so hard blood ran from it, and nodded rigidly.

Italy watched as they left him, his former allies and friends.

A wave of emotion overtook him, and France seemed to take note, putting a comforting arm around him.

"What's wrong, _mon petit garcon?" _he murmured as Italy sniffed loudly.

"I-I thought he would be happy to see me again…and he's going away, i-it's horrible!"

Italy wiped his eyes.

"And Germany…he was so cold….he doesn't need to be like that….then again, I'm still pretty angry at him, he must be the same…"

"I see."

"I can't forget," Italy continued, hands clenching unconsciously, "That night."

_It was raining so hard. Every drop from heaven was pounding into the roof. But it did nothing to muffle the scream that came from the small house below._

"_G-Germany? T-tell me you're lying!"_

"_I am not lying. I'm sorry, Italy."_

_Italy grasped the table shakily for balance. Tears were running down his face._

"_I don't believe it…everyone said you died…it can't be true…the real one would've told me sooner…!"_

"_But it is."_

_Germany drew himself up to his full height, clutching his cross necklace so hard it left marks on his palm._

"_I am Holy Roman Empire."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Sign**

Japan was sitting on his bed, the blanket drawn up over his head as though he was considering going back into isolation. His uniform lay tossed carelessly on the floor. His familiar blue _yukata_ smelled comforting to him, and he felt too anxious to put away his clothes.

There were other much more stressing things.

A soft knock sounded at the bedchamber's door, and Japan sighed, his train of thoughts broken.

"Come in…"

Germany walked in, balancing a tray on his hip. He set it down on the dresser, and Japan kept the blanket up over his face.

"Japan."

He did not reply.

Germany sighed and lifted the cover, meeting little resistance. The small man avoided his eyes, tucking a stray strand of black hair behind his ear.

There was an awkward silence as Germany struggled to find words. He finally got up, sighing.

"There's tea on the dresser, if you want it," he said. "Austria made you a cake, with little ice cream _mochi_ on top, just for you. He sends his regards from below deck."

Japan ignored him completely, only turning around so his back was to the tall blonde.

Germany left, shutting the door quietly.

Japan sat up as soon as he door closed, grabbing the tea and gulping it down. He hadn't eaten in so long, not since they boarded. America had tried several times to force-feed him his greasy food, but he had firmly declined and wordlessly starved. He needed to take advantage of it while he could, when America was not around.

He started on the cake, appreciating its soft, creamy texture. The _mochi_ was a nice touch, he thought.

The door slammed open, and Japan barely had time to quickly cover the food up with the lid before America bounced into the room.

"A-America-kun!" Japan cried out, wiping his mouth free of crumbs. "You can't just barge in like that without warning!"

"Don't be silly, we're good friends!" America chirped. "Aren't I allowed to talk to you anytime I like? You're almost like the brother I never had!"

He sat down hard on the bed, and Japan bobbed a little. Japan wondered if it was entirely appropriate to mention that Canada was his true brother, and that he found being called America's relative repulsive.

America swiped up the lid off the plate of food.

"Cool, it's good to see you are eating something….I was beginning to wonder if you ate anything at all…"

He turned suddenly serious blue eyes to the small Asian on the bed.

"Kiku, can I talk with you about something?"

_Why not, _Japan thought, _why not when you haven't asked me before?_

But he did not dare say that aloud, and instead nodded demurely.

"…Uh…._hai._"

"'Kay, so Germany told me you spoke with Italy…?"

"For a minute," Japan said a bit sharper than he intended. "We only talked for a minute."

"R-r-right," said America, and he leaned forward a bit too close for Japan's taste.

"Well, just wanted to let you know I don't want you to talk to him anymore."

"Why?"

"…Because. I don't want you to, Kiku."

Japan felt a deep resentment.

"America. I can talk to whoever I wish. Do not tell me what to do just because I am going to live in the same house as you. And do not use my human name."

"That _is_ true," America mused, fingers stroking idly at the sheet. "But talking to the wrong people…it could get you in trouble."

"Are you threatening me?" Japan hissed.

America reached out and laid his hand on his shoulder. It would have almost been a friendly gesture, if not for the way he gripped it tightly.

"No, I am not threatening you," he breathed, and his nails dug into the skin, making Japan bite his lip to stifle a cry of pain, "But certain other people can get hurt. By natural or not causes. And I _really don't want to do that._ Or see it happen."

By now both hands had moved almost imperceptibly to rest around Japan's collar, too close to his neck to mean anything friendly. America flicked his gaze downward.

"You can put that away now."

Japan did not remove the sharp knife from under America's chin, staring emotionlessly at him. Sky blue eyes and brown met in a battle of wills, and America finally pulled away.

"Now that I've made that clear…"

He groaned as he readjusted himself on the bed's edge. His mood transformed instantly.

"So, anyway, I'm hosting a party tonight to celebrate. You are the guest of honor, of course!"

He slapped him affectionately on the back, strength nearly knocking him off.

"Please attend. I'll be waiting for you, 'kay? I'm gonna ask England to make you something nice to eat, not anymore of that rice or _mochi._ Something that actually tastes good. And don't wear that silly uniform or _kimono_, I'll send up a nice suit or something…ah, I almost forgot!"

He took something from his pocket.

"Close your eyes," he sing-songed.

Japan reluctantly obeyed. Something was pinned onto his chest into the fabric of the kimono.

"There! You can wear that too, and everyone will think it's cool!"

Japan looked down at the pin-on button. It was gaudily large and artificially colored, studded with tiny diamonds. He thought it was quite a waste of gems. _Proud to Be American,_ it stated a little too cheerily in bright neon yellow letters. He instantly hated it.

He ruffled Japan's jet-black bangs like a child's, and got up to leave. Just as he reached the door, Japan's voice called him back. It was small and tiny sounding.

"Don't."

America did not turn.

"Don't what?"

"Don't hurt Italy. I'm begging you. He didn't do anything, he's just innocent."

America cocked his head slightly so his glasses glinted.

"Accidents happen all the time in America."

With those final words, he departed, slamming the door carelessly as though to drive the point home.

It was only until he couldn't hear or feel the superpower's footsteps that he lowered his knife. He took a deep breath, catching sight of the horrible pin.

He tore it off and flung it against the wall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Respect**

France walked up slowly behind the blonde, then grabbed his hat off from behind.

"Hey," England snapped, snatching the captain's hat back. "Don't touch."

"You're just upset I didn't get stranded in the English Channel," France purred.

"No, I'm just bothered by your mere existence on this boat, _my_ boat," retorted England.

"Someone is in a bad mood…"

"You're demoted to boatswain, France."

The ballroom was decked out elegantly. America evidently had taste when he actually set his mind to it. Japan adjusted his tie, walking down the steps. Such intricate carving on the stair railing, he observed. And the vaulted ceiling with its sky mural and glorious chandelier was magnificent indeed.

The suit was hot and uncomfortable. He did not like it the way it chafed his skin, especially around the shoulders.

"Down here!" America waved him over, and drew him to a table nearby. It was set with plenty of food on fine plates.

"How is it? You like it?" America laughed breathlessly, gesturing to the entire room. "I tried to go for a sort of happy mood. Have some dinner, you're too thin, Kiku—"

He offered him a plate, and Japan shook his head politely.

"I feel sick," he murmured. America patted him on the back.

"Hey, you eat whenever you wanna. It's not going anywhere. Hey," he frowned suddenly.

"Where's the pin I gave you?"

Japan considered lying, to say it had broken or been lost. But he settled for the truth.

"I didn't want to," he said bluntly. "I didn't like it."

America's face fell.

"I'm sorry…"

Japan prayed that he would not take it the wrong way, but, to his relief, he seemed to drop the subject completely.

"Hey!" America gesticulated wildly to some people not far off sitting at a table. "Let me introduce you to some friends!"

He walked Japan over(more like forced) him in his chosen direction. It turned out to be England and France eating and fighting over dinner. Both of them turned their heads as they approached, and England politely removed his hat.

"How is your trip so far?"

"It's…satisfactory," Japan replied emotionlessly. America laughed loudly next to his ear.

"We're going to have so much fun when we get to my house!" he chattered, much to his companion's annoyance. "I'll show him all the major monuments and cool stuff, and his country can help support our ever-growing population, and maybe someday we'll be fused as one!"

England's lips went thin.

"You _can't_ get fused, you know, git," he pointed out. "It would mean he would disappear or worse. Die."

America shrugged. "Well, we're good friends, so I'm sure he won't mind becoming a part of me."

France sighed loudly as England abruptly pushed his chair back in anger, standing up and grabbing America by the collar of his leather jacket.

"Open your eyes, America you idiot!" he yelled. France raised a weak hand in an attempt to calm him.

"_Angleterre…_this won't solve anything, please sit back down—"

"No! He needs someone to say it!" England shouted. "I've been holding back since he boarded this boat!" He shook America violently.

"Is this how I raised you, Alfred? To be so insensitive and bloody arrogant? To give others pain? I wanted to be a good up-bringer, someone who could raise a boy who would grow into a good country, the first not to make the same mistakes as me and behave badly towards others. I used to _own_ the world, Alfred, all I want is for you to please feel or imagine—"

England let out a small cry of pain as he was knocked to the floor, America's hand striking his cheek.

The force was enough to knock the smaller man straight into the table, and France scrambled up to help him. England remained where he was, trembling, bringing one hand up to the red, raw mark.

"_FYI_, England, but the _US of A_ now owns the world," America pronounced. England didn't respond, only shook in disbelief.

"H-he hit m-me," England finally whispered as America strode imperiously away, tugging Japan after him. France held him as he broke down in sobs, shooting America a hateful look at his back. Despite the obvious animosity shown between England and France on a daily basis, inside they secretly enjoyed the bickering and tussling.

"You'll pay," France muttered as he looked down at England's still pained face.

"I-I raised that boy into a man, it's my f-fault the way he is," England hiccupped. France patted his back.

"No, it is not. Someone like that is born that way. And he is extraordinarily kind sometimes…"

"Y-yeah…I still can't believe he hit me though…I thought he would never do that…"

"Come on, let's get you some scotch, Lord knows you act like it makes everything better…"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: Gift from the Heart**

It was unbearable. America spent the entire time dragging him along, not caring in the least how tired and decorous Japan's protests were becoming. He talked nonstop; introducing him to random people he did not even care to know and showing him off like a new toy. Finally, Japan grabbed a bottle of champagne and kicked it to the other side of the room, ducking out of his grasp as he heard it smash against the wall. America ran over to investigate the sound, yelling about the stain on the new carpet.

He slipped out, silent as a ninja, onto the deck. He was deliriously happy to be out of the stuffy ballroom, and immediately sprinted to his room to grab his comfortable, familiar clothing. If America asked, he would tell him he felt sick and planned to go to bed. And he would lock the door, he thought darkly as he leaned over the railing overlooking the sea. The last thing he needed was the man busting into his room in the middle of the night to chat or, even worse, to offer him disgusting food Japan suspected was full of preservatives and drugs.

He peered over the railing, climbing up so he could look at the water running below. It glowed from the setting sun as if it was on fire, and he leaned forward more.

"Maybe," he mused, staring into the glinting water, "Maybe the most honorable way to get through this…."

He stepped up higher on the railing, kimono fluttering softly. He took a deep breath.

"I'm going to jump off and kill myself. I…I cannot take the rest of my life being treated like a toy. Wait. No. If I do that, I fail in my promise to my people! That is dishonorable…but maybe…"

Japan leaned forward so the cold metal pressed into his abdomen.

"I don't think my people would be happy with the way they are going to be treated, like me. So, out of pity for my people, I should jump-?"

It was all very puzzling. But that was normal for Japan's stressed mind. Thinking heavily on honor and ethical codes only served to muddle it up further.

"Japan! Japan! What are you doing?"

The sudden interruption startled Japan badly, throwing him off balance. His foot slipped, and he screamed, shutting his eyes as he fell. So he would have to die anyway…

He opened his eyes, and realized he was not dead, but it was just as bad. Both hands were clinging onto the bottom railing, and, as he looked down, he felt nauseated. The ship was going at a tremendous speed, and his legs dangled precariously. If he fell, he would not survive. His heart thumped, and he shook.

"_JAPAN!"_

Italy's concerned and shocked face peered over the edge, and Japan's stomach lurched as he struggled to hold onto the rails. Italy bent down low and stretched out his hand.

"Japan, Japan, grab onto me, I'll pull you up carefully…"

Japan looked up at him, terrified.

"I-I don't know if I c-can do that…my arms h-hurt and I c-can't swim..."

"I thought you said you were a naval officer once or something!"

"J-just please get me up!"

He tried swinging up his arm to catch Italy's, but missed miserably, gasping in pain and re-grabbing the rail. Italy bent dangerously forward, almost off the boat. He reached down and hooked his hands under Japan's arms.

"Urgh…you're…h-heavy…"

Japan flushed.

"I am lighter than you, I beg your pardon!"

Italy heaved Japan on the deck, and the Asian promptly collapsed, a lump of jelly.

"_Arigatou, _Italia-_kun…_I thank you so much…"

"It's nothing, Japan! I couldn't let you drown or something!"

Japan got up shakily, leaning on Italy for support.

"America says I can't talk to you. Thank you for saving me, I appreciate it," Japan said all in one breath. He began to move away from Italy.

"W-wait! I wanted to talk to you!"

"We can't," Japan replied. "If America sees you or me talking to one another, he said he might hurt you. Please refrain."

"B-but…" Italy was at a loss for words. "I made you a going-away present!"

Japan sighed, looking both ways. Seeing that it was clear, he went back to Italy.

"Show me, quickly, please."

Italy reached into his pocket, rummaging for a good minute, in which Japan looked around anxiously.

"Italia-kun, why is your curl missing?"

"That? Oh," He finally pulled out a box from his shirt pocket. "I cut it off in return for boat tickets. But don't worry, it'll grow back. I think…"

He handed the decorated box to Japan, placing it in his palms. It had a little ruffled pink bow, which Japan undid carefully with his index and thumb fingers. He placed it delicately off to the side, and began to cautiously peel off the wrapping in one neat piece.

Italy sighed impatiently as Japan started to remove each individual piece of tape, tapping his feet and squirming in place. He finally snatched it and tore the wrapping all off, oblivious to Japan's scathing glare.

"See?"

"I…don't get it?"

It was a small, beautifully engraved, heart-shaped locket with tiny drawings of noodles framing it. A gold sculpted _mochi,_ so small he could barely notice it, kept it closed.

"I made it myself when I was bored a few days ago," Italy exclaimed. "I like all kinds of art!"

Japan hesitantly lifted it over his neck, then seemed to change his mind halfway through, holding it up to Italy's honey-brown eyes.

"Italy," he pointed out, "Jewelry is typically for women."

"You're supposed to put a picture or something in it," explained Italy. "Kinda like a purse. 'Cept it's a man-purse, right, Japan?"

"Yes," agreed Japan halfheartedly, pulling it over his head and tucking it, hidden, into his shirt. He did not want to hurt his feelings.

"Oh, yeah, one more thing," Italy held up a matching necklace. "It's like a friendship necklace, so even when you're far away, we'll always have these and think of all the cool stuff we did when we hung out!"

Japan bit his lip, rubbing his eyelids. He was about to explain slowly that he just couldn't do that, when Italy took him by surprise, taking up Japan's necklace and inserting his hair curl snip into it. He shut it with a snap.

"And now, you…"

"Me, wh-what?"

He yelped as Italy twanged some hair from his head, then lay the raven strand into his own locket.

"O-ow…_WHAT WAS THE PURPOSE OF THAT?"_

"Oh, it means it's like a magic charm, so the other person is always safe as long as they have the hair! Holy Roman…Empire…" Italy deflated slightly. "T-taught it to…me—"

Japan could hear heavy boots coming round the corner, and he pushed Italy frantically.

"Quick, go to your room!"

"But I wanna talk more, Japa—"

Japan shot him a look of apology, and dashed across the deck as fast as he could.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:**** Thank you all so much for all the attention this fic is getting, on fanfiction and DA! I'm so happy, you have no idea! Please enjoy this next installment!^^**

**I'm sorry….you can practically feel the Ameripan dying in this fic….-_-'**

**Chapter Eight: Immortal**

Japan raced into the room and shut the door. He sighed in relief and slid down the wall.

"So, how long did you talk this time?"

Japan jolted, looking up to see America seated on the edge of his bed. America tapped his boot on the wooden floor, and Japan regained his composure.

"What do you mean?"

"Italy, of course," America snapped. He got up and fisted his hand in the front of Japan's kimono. "How many times do I have to tell you this, if we're going to live in the same house together, you have to listen to the things I say! How can I trust you if you are disobeying me now—"

"_Get out of my room!"_ Japan yelled in his face, and America paused for a moment in surprise. Then, his eyes slitted behind his glasses. He paid no attention to how Japan's body trembled with intense anger, or how his eyes burned with fury. Almost nothing made Japan angry.

But right now, Japan was _furious._

"Is that how you're going to be?" America spat, and he shook Japan roughly. "Answer me—"

Japan raised a knee up into his vital regions, and America choked at the pain, sinking down onto the floor.

Japan watched, fists slowly unclenching, and collapsed with his face in his hands. He started to sob brokenly, more than he had for the past hundred years.

"K-Kiku…I'm sorry…" America was trying to comfort him, and he seemed confused and stunned by the display of emotion, "I'm s-sorry, okay? I went too far, I didn't mean to hurt you…I've been a j-jerk….not a hero….forgive me, please, I really do care about you…"

Japan hiccupped once, and didn't raise his head.

"Just get out."

America was silent. He got up and left.

Japan reached up and locked and bolted the door loudly, then went onto his bed and continued to cry. Everything was so wrong with his life. Was it even a life? How could he call it a life if he lived forever, and people he saw every day were gone within a few years? He recalled Prussia standing by a grave, laying down small yellow buttercups. He hadn't been crying, only staring with empty sad eyes at the small heap of dirt. "Is this it?" he had asked to no one in particular, rather to the empty air in front of him. Japan hadn't answered.

Prussia had gotten up and left, after taking one last look at the tombstone that proclaimed _Gilbird 503._

Japan felt something cold and metal, and he reached into his shirt to pull out the small gold locket.

He sighed, and, still clutching it, made his blanket into a nest shape. He curled up inside it and pulled it up over his head.

Sweet isolation.

There was a knock in the middle of the night, and Japan sat up blearily. He threw his pillow as hard as he could at the door.

"I told you to go away, America!"

"Eek! I-it's me!"

Japan got up and opened the door. He squinted.

"Italia-kun? What do you need? You shouldn't be here…"

Italy was in his boxers, clutching his pillow and sheet in his arms and staring wide-eyed at Japan.

"C-can I sleep with you?" he asked. "I had a really….bad dream…"

Japan shook his head.

"You're old enough to sleep alone."

Italy looked both ways fearfully, and Japan took note of the way he tightened his fingers in the pillow. He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"All right, come in."

Italy practically leapt onto the bed, crawling under the blanket and trembling. Japan slipped in next to him. He didn't lay down, only stared outside at the moon.

"Japan? Were you crying or something?"

Japan raised a small hand and wiped his eyes.

"No."

The Italian yawned and snuggled close, prompting the smaller man to shove him away. Italy giggled childishly and poked his hand under Japan's arm. The Asian punched him in the shoulder.

"Ticklish…? Can I coax a smile out of you this time?"

"Why don't you tell me about your dream, Italia-kun?"

Italy opened his eyes wider than Japan had ever seen them. He shook his head vigorously.

"It's too scary!"

"Go ahead," Japan said, "I'm not going to sleep with you in the bed anyway. You grab everything like it is a child's stuffed toy."

Italy shuffled nervously. He bit his lip.

"All right…" he muttered, then, "Japan? Can I ask you something first?"

Japan didn't break his eye contact with the silver moon, and he gave the tiniest hint of a nod.

"Do you think….any of us were ever human?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Only Human**

"What do you mean?"

Japan peered curiously at Italy, who squeaked and buried his face in the blanket.

"U-uh…n-never mind…its just dreams, anyway...!"

"Tell me," Japan ordered tiredly. "I know you want to."

"Well," said Italy, propping himself up on his elbows. "How far back can you remember?"

"I'm an old man, Italy," Japan answered. "I may not physically look like it, but my age is thousands of years old. I suppose…" He thought for a moment. "The farthest is when I was young and China-san found me in the bamboo forest."

"Okay," said Italy, "And all I used to remember was when I was really little and in a white dress when everyone thought I was a girl…even Holy Roman Empire…" Italy sighed bitterly.

"But lately I'm remembering things that don't seem to be mine. I'm dreaming things that I feel like I should know but at the same time…I feel like they were someone else's…"

"That doesn't mean you ever were human," Japan interrupted. "What made you think that? Tell me these dreams and visions of yours."

Italy took a deep breath and wiggled slightly.

"A few days ago…I was walking along the deck, thinking of pasta, and all of sudden, I _was_ eating pasta. I was sitting at a wooden table, thinking of how _I had made it only yesterday_, and then I looked down. I was wearing completely different clothes. And that's when I woke up because big brother France was shaking me."

Japan's stomach lurched a little in concern. But he did not let it show. "The dream?"

Italy looked up at him, and his brown eyes gleamed in the sparse light.

"That…was the worst part…"

Where was he?

What was he doing here?

He closed his eyes in an effort to calm his panicking thoughts. It all came slowly back to him.

He was Feliciano Vargas, a well-known painter. He lived in Florence. The date was 1494 A.D.

"Hello there, boy," a man asked, poking his head into the small stucco-plastered room. "Is that commission nearly done?"

"I am afraid not, good sir," he called, and he took up his brushes and went to go fill a cup with water. As he made his way out, he accidentally brushed a canvas, making it topple forward.

The man caught it before Feliciano could get it, squinting his eyes at it.

"What be this?" he asked, "Some heathen wench you caught eye of during your travels?"

Feliciano shook his head, and he smiled as he gently pried the painting from the man's hands.

"No," he whispered, and he replaced it on the shelf.

The man narrowed his eyes at him.

"Do what thee thinkest best," he muttered, "If thee durst not complete the divine painting by the morrow, it will be thy neck!"

Feliciano laughed, and suddenly everything faded away to white, and he was standing in the middle of a field. Bodies were everywhere around him, and Feliciano was the last one of them all.

Warriors on tall horses started to make their way towards him, and he regretted his decision to join the war effort.

He should have just remained an artist. As poor a job as it was, it was his living. What was the point of this senseless fighting? He should surrender or flee…

Feliciano felt tears come into his eyes. He didn't want to die! What was the purpose of dying?...

He wanted to eat pasta and lay in the sun during a siesta, he wanted to paint pictures of his world forever and ever….he clutched the small sketch in his pocket.

He recalled a song he had composed the other day. A Spanish explorer had sailed to far off lands, then returned with strange ideas about the world being round. Such preposterous theories…

The warriors were close now. His legs seemed to be stuck in place. It was too late to run now. Surrendering was the only option.

Or was it?

He gritted his teeth. Why had he come into this war in the first place? He joined because he loved his country. He loved Italy with its rolling hills and special sun, its people and fields. There was something about his home country that didn't even compare to any other.

He slowly reached into his shirt, keeping his eyes on the approaching fighters. The tears dried on his auburn lashes.

No more surrendering.

If he was to die, he wanted to die proud of himself. Unconsciously, he started to sing quietly to himself.

"Draw a circle…there's the Earth…draw a circle, there's the Earth…"

Feliciano pulled out his palette knife, the only thing he had left. With a deep breath to steady his heart, he ran straight at the enemy.

"Draw a circle, there's the Earth…._Viva'l Italia!"_

And then all there was a sharp, stabbing pain, and all he could hear was his own scream ripped from his lungs, and all he could see was red, red, red, red and green and white…


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: Feeling**

"I'm sorry," apologized Italy after a long silence after telling his dream. "It-it's so fast and random…that's just how it was…"

Japan said nothing.

"Y-you think this means I was a human once? Were we all human once, Japan?"

Japan gave the slightest of nods. "Maybe," he finally said. "Maybe we all were once. Maybe God ordained us to be so, to be the living entities of a country's soul."

"I pray," said Italy piously. "I pray even though I know I don't have to, because I'm a country and not human, but I pray every day. God is up there, I know it. He did this for a reason. He put me here for a reason. He made me and you for a reason, Japan…"

"I believe in God," Japan whispered. "How can there not be one? My very existence is living proof of that. But I am not Christian or any of the other religions. I guess…I follow the good in all religions. Yes. That is it. I am everything."

He looked down, and Italy had already fallen fast asleep. He sighed ad laid down, closing his tired eyes.

Italy snuggled into his back, moving his arms so he could wrap them tightly around Japan, and he didn't protest.

The sun streaked into the small window of the cabin, and Japan groaned and shifted, refusing to open his eyes. Someone blew gently into his ears, and Japan jerked suddenly awake.

"Italy!" he said angrily, clapping both hands over his ears. "Do not do such a thing! My ears are sensitive!"

Italy giggled, completely entangled in his sheet. He put his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, the smile still on his face.

"Can we have gnocchi for breakfast?" he asked, and Japan shook his head.

"That is unhealthy first thing in the morning. Have something lighter, Italia-kun."

He shut his eyes and turned around, but was stopped midway as Italy's larger body tumbled onto his own. Japan squirmed under the sudden weight, kicking out.

"Will you-get off!"

"Ow! Don't hit me! I'm trying, but it's like we're stuck—"

"Stuck? How? I demand you remove your person immediately!"

"I-I'm trying!...Oh."

"What is 'Oh'?" Japan panted, feeling crushed under Italy.

Italy wrenched himself off and sat up with difficulty, and Japan was pulled up forcibly by his neck.

"Ah! It hurts!"

"It's our necklaces, it will only take a minute—"

"Our necklaces? Then just take them off! Don't cling to me so hard at night then—"

Japan scrabbled at his chain, his longer hair caught in the links. Italy caught up his wrists, and the two of them froze. Japan seized up at the contact, and he turned away, face flushing. Italy gently reached forward and undid the knot, fingertips brushing his neck.

"There! It's gone now!" Italy proclaimed, then, "Um, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"N-no, I'm fine!" Japan snapped, and he pushed Italy so he fell on his back on the bed. "Get dressed and go, France-san is probably looking for you—"

"Hm? Oh, yeah!" Italy pulled his shirt over his head. "Let's go see him!"

Japan nodded absently, standing up and shaking the wrinkles out of his kimono. He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his straight black hair.

"All right, let's go, I'm ready—"

Italy reached over and grabbed his hand, tugging him up. He pulled him out the door.

"W-will you not do that…!"

"Ahahahaha! You walk too slow, that's why! If we don't hurry, they're going to be all out of gnocchi! I'm buying it, so don't worry about anything! And after I thought we could play like we used to—"

He dragged Japan behind him, but it was a different kind of dragging than America's. Italy wasn't pulling him as hard, and his hand was soft and slightly sticky warm, like a young child's. America's hands were rough and hurt his palm.

Italy rounded a corner, babbling about a kitten he'd seen on the ship that he wanted Japan to help him find, then he smacked into something very large and solid.

"A-America. Germany," Italy bobbed his head nervously, and Japan suddenly wished Italy would let go of his hands, "We're just going to get breakfast…"

America crossed his arms, raising one eyebrow.

"That's strange, I invited him for today's breakfast yesterday…can you even afford it?" he asked, and his eyes glinted.

Italy blushed and started to stutter.

"U-uh, I c-can too afford it…" he faltered.

America extended his arm down and grabbed Japan's hand from Italy's.

"I'm sorry, Kiku, but this is for your own good, I'm trying to recondition your previous ways, and Italy just won't help that…"

Germany seized Italy, who looked terrified. He predictably burst into tears.

"Uwaaa….don't goooo Japaaaan…"

Japan pounded at America's broad chest.

"You're just being unbelievably possessive! You are only angry because none of your precious territories have acted like this before!"

"Y-you're not a colony," America flinched at the usage of the word like it was germ-ridden, "You are a guest in my house."

"A colony," Japan repeated, "A colony, that no matter how much you claim to care about, that you will suck and leech off of until everything that it was is gone, only to be replaced by your ideals. An automaton to endlessly fight for you and reiterate your praises."

"I-I'm not!" America protested, and it was the closest Japan had ever seen him to tears, "I-I'm doing good things for the world…"

Italy whimpered.

"You're not my friend, America. And you're certainly not doing good things for me. And I will give you misery until this is over."

With that, he sank sharp tiny teeth into America's arm, and the taller nation yelped and let him go abruptly. Japan spun on his heel and kicked Germany in the knee, and Italy sank to the floor. The Italian rose and grabbed Japan's hand.

"Run!"

"Wh-where, Italia-kun?"

"I know!"

Italy yanked him down the deck, and Japan was barely able to keep up.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: King of the World**

They ran together, Japan being breathlessly dragged along. What he had done to America had been exceedingly undignified and dishonorable, but he felt a reckless thrill nonetheless. Maybe he was becoming more like Italy. He made a mental note to control himself more.

Italy stopped by the restaurant, instructing Japan to remain outside. Japan tapped his fingers on the railing, idly watching the clouds and the endless sea. Morning sun danced across the water, and Japan sighed and enjoyed the reprieve.

Said reprieve was interrupted as Italy bounced into him, holding up two round pastries. He passed one to Japan and climbed up to sit on the railing, swinging his legs.

"What are these?" Japan questioned, holding up the pastry. His fingers were coated in powdered sugar.

Italy gulped the gigantic bite down and grinned.

"I don't even know, but they're really yummy!"

Japan turned over the puffed roll and discovered a small bite taken out of the side. Italy blushed.

"Oops, that was me…"

"It's all right. You can take it, I will eat later."

"Okay."

There was nothing but the sound of the waves and Italy's chewing for a minute, then, he gulped and stood up. He wiped his hands on the front of his pants.

"Hey, do you wanna come below deck tomorrow?" he asked, hopping up so both of them were leaning over the edge.

"Why would I?"

"The Italians are having a party, with lots of music and food! Please?"

"America wants to take me to another party then."

"You don't have to go."

"I'm already in enough trouble, Italia-kun."

"Oh."

Italy seemed to physically deflate, hanging his head between the metal bars. "I like youuuuu, I want you to coooome…"

"F-fine, I'll think about it."

Japan sighed and rubbed his forehead. Italy began to hum loudly.

"When the moooon hits your eyeee, like a biiiiig yummy saucy cheesy pizza pie!..."

"…Italia-kun."

"Hmm?"

Japan turned to look directly at him.

"First off, that humming is very annoying. Cease at once. Second…" Japan took a deep breath, "What do you mean when you say you like me? You've said it before, and I want you to clarify it."

Italy seemed genuinely confused.

"Um, it means I like you...? How else do I say it?"

Japan shook his head, flushing.

"N-no, I mean do you _like_ me as a friend or something else? You've always said since the beginning how much you liked me. What do you mean by it? What is so interesting about me that you always follow and accompany me everywhere? What do you see in me? I am only an old man who has lived too long…not to mention how inappropriate the prospect of _that_ would be—"

"Wow," Italy interrupted, golden-brown eyes wide. "You…thought a lot about this. And I think that was the most words I've ever heard you say."

"I-I'm sorry," Japan flustered, "I j-just wanted to know, do not be offended—"

"Um," Italy's tan skin was as red as Japan's by now, "I guess…you're special. I like talking to you. You're nice."

"Is that all?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing."

There was an uncomfortable stillness, and both of them gazed out at the horizon. Then, Italy grabbed Japan's hand by the wrist.

"Hey! Can I show you something?"

"What is it?"

Italy had seemingly snapped out of the discomfort that had permeated the air only a moment ago.

"Its fine, I found it out yesterday when I was waiting for you. Come ooooon…"

Japan allowed himself to be tugged off the railing and onto the deck. A warm hand covered his eyes, and he shifted in irritation.

"It's a surprise, that's why—"

Italy guided him up onto something, supporting him carefully. He pulled his hand off his eyes, laughingly warning him not to peek. His arms were slowly let go of.

"Open your eyes!"

Japan opened his eyes. He felt disoriented and puzzled for a moment. He was floating over the sea, and nothing was below him. Italy laughed behind him. He looked down and realized they were on the mast, on the very edge while the wind was in their faces.

"Isn't it beautiful like this?" Italy whispered in awe. "The ocean is so blue, and it seems so much closer. The way the sun dances on the bends of each wave. The way we're both up here, flying!"

"Italia-kun," Japan interjected. He swayed slightly. Italy continued as if he had not heard him.

"It's like…it's like we're kings of the world, Japan! It's so wonderful! I want to paint it!"

Japan gripped Italy by the shirt front and buried his face in it, refusing to meet Italy's startled eyes or even look at the water.

"_Italy._ I'm afraid of heights."

Italy panicked, scrabbling to get off.

"E-eh? I-I'm so s-sorry! Eeep!"

Japan vomited onto Italy's shirt.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve: Dance**

"It's at nine. "

"You told me already, Italia-kun."

"You're sure you'll come?"

Japan finished tightening the horrible, choking tie in the mirror. He stared at Italy.

"I will try my best. And that is my word."

Italy nodded vigorously, watching as Japan fiddled with the buttons on the front of his fancy lapel jacket. He stifled a giggle.

"You look so dressed up and stiff, it fits you very well…"

"Will you leave?"

Italy shook his head slowly, and Japan sighed in frustration as a button popped.

"Wipe that insolent smile of your face immediately, Italia-kun."

Italy burst into full-blown laughter, unable to hold back.

"St-stiff clothes for a stiff person! Hahahaha!"

"I am not that stiff…and that is not very funny…"

"Maybe not," Italy said with a wide grin, "But I probably should stop feeding you those sweet rolls you seem to like so much."

He snatched up the stray button and waved it in Japan's indignant face.

"I-I beg your pardon! You are the one who got them! And this suit is two sizes small!"

"Whatever you say," Italy made a face and pretended to be stuffing his mouth like a chipmunk, and just narrowly dodged Japan's swipe.

"Nomnomnom…so many rolls yesterday…you acted like you were starving to death…"

"Maybe I am, because of England-san's horrible cooking on this boat—"

The door swung open, and America entered. He grinned at Japan, reaching out his hand.

"All right, I'm ready," he announced, "Come on, England's waiting—"

"Ah," Japan looked down at the floor pointedly. "I was wondering…Italy invited me below deck to where he is staying with the Italian immigrants, and I was…wondering…if I could go there instead, just this once—"

"Absolutely not," America interrupted dismissively, waving his hand. "No arguing. You could catch some illness down there among those people, and besides that, it looks bad for me. Now come on."

Japan sighed and shot an apologetic look to Italy, who looked hurt at the comments.

"I-I know they're poor and all, but th-they're my people, good people, Signore America…"

"It doesn't matter, I said no and I don't want him going with you," America snapped sharply. He took hold of Japan's hand.

"Let's go."

Japan sighed and allowed himself to be towed along.

"I wanna show you to my boss!" America chattered excitedly. "I think you guys could get along really well!"

"All right," said Japan. His wrist was beginning to hurt from the strain. "By the way, why do you hold onto my hand? It's a strange thing to do."

America shrugged.

"You don't like it?"

"Frankly…no."

America fixed him unblinkingly, then exhaled deeply, turning away.

"Your friend does it," he muttered under his breath. Japan caught the words.

"Who? Oh…Italy. That's different, he's just affectionate. It's his nature. He's always been more expressive in that way. He does it to everyone."

"I see. But I've only seen him do it to you."

"He used to hug Germany all the time before their fight. France and Spain too. It means nothing."

America nodded slowly and tightened his grip on his hand, and Japan stifled a cry of pain.

Japan managed to escape at five minutes to nine. It was absolute chaos in the ballroom. The music was much too loud for Japan's taste, and America was in a corner laughing with his superior. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and he seemed to have forgotten completely about Japan. With all the bustle, it was easy for him to sneak out and quietly close the doors behind him. He sighed in relief.

"You ready?"

Japan jumped and turned to see an overly excited Italian grinning at him. He relaxed and nodded, and Italy clapped his hands in joy.

"Very good! Let's go!"

He walked him down the deck, to an area he had never noticed before. A white staircase with peeling paint on the rails led down to a small doorway. The door was nonexistent, but the rusted hinges still remained.

"Are you sure it's safe?" Japan asked slowly.

"Huh? Of course it is! I wouldn't bring you somewhere bad! This is third class, so it's pretty shabby. But you'll like everyone, and I'm sure they'll like you. They'll probably ask you lots of questions about your country!"

"Wh-what do I say?"

"Just be loose!"

By now, they were all the way down, and Italy ducked under the doorframe.

"Watch your head…"

He entered, and it was surprisingly bright and well-lit inside. It was crowded with people of all kinds, mostly Italians. Their clothes were ragged but well-kept, and a man in the back was handing out food and playing music on a flute. Italy pulled Japan through the large group of people, waving his arms to make way. Japan blushed as the stares followed him all the way across the floor. The noise was phenomenal, but it was different than the party America was holding one floor up at the moment. There was laughter, snatches of happy conversations, slow music.

It was like a huge family. Italy introduced him to several people he didn't even know, and random women and men hugged him affectionately, chatting to him in Italian. A woman offered him food and told him something with a smile. Italy laughed, and Japan furrowed his brow.

"What did she say?" he asked nervously.

"She says to eat up," Italy translated as the woman patted Japan's shoulder vigorously, "She says you're too small, you need to become stronger and bigger. She also says you're…um…p-p-pretty…"

Japan flushed at the words, and the lady laughed and pushed a cup into his hand.

"Drink," she told him in her heavy accent. "Drink?"

Out of politeness, he obeyed. It was sweet and cool, and he coughed at the undertone of bitterness. He looked around for Italy, suddenly feeling lost. He wiped his mouth and handed the glass back to the lady.

"What was it?" he asked, pointing to the cup. She shrugged, not comprehending. Japan thought about it for a moment, then took it back, drinking it down in one gulp. It was never good to offend people.

He roamed through the crowd, finally espying Italy talking animatedly to a man with a well-loved accordion in his hand. Japan realized he had never heard Italy speak Italian before, and stood there for a dizzy moment, allowing the people to rush by. Italy gestured wildly, and his voice was different than he was used to. He turned and smiled at Japan, waving in greeting.

"I was wondering when you'd come!" he yelled over the noise. He made his way to him to gently pull him over.

"This is Leo," he informed him, indicating the accordion player. "He's missing an arm from the war. But he can still play the accordion! Isn't that neat?"

"Is he doing all right?" Japan asked concernedly. Italy translated, and beamed to Japan.

"He says good. He also advises you to eat more."

"So I've been told," Japan answered. Italy giggled aloud, and it was so high and innocent Japan could feel himself relax a little more. This place was so calm and busy at the same time…it reminded him of the trip he and Italy had taken together a few years ago to visit his country.

The peace was broken momentarily as Italy nodded his auburn head at the man and said something in fluid Italian, accent rolling the r's.

"What did you s—what are you doing…?"

The music came on, and it was slow and rhythmic. It began to pick up its pace, and Italy grabbed Japan impulsively and tugged him onto the center of the floor.

"Italia-kun! I can't dance!"

"Why not?"

Italy smiled widely, eyes almost half-closed with the grin. Japan blushed as people started to look on, obviously expecting him to do something.

"It's…not dignified…and I d-don't know how anyway…"

Italy shook his head.

"You're going about this wrong," he explained calmly. "No one cares if you dance badly, see? We're just supposed to have fun! So, just dance!"

Before he could protest, Italy twirled him by the hand and broke away to begin dancing jerkily. The music was going faster and faster, tambourines sounding their refrain. It pounded at Japan's heart, leaving him with visions of white plaster walls that had stood for hundreds of years, of bright sun on fields of grapes ripening. It was Italy's very soul, every piece of it ringing inside him as the music beat on.

Italy slipped his hand into his own, and led him in the dance. Japan's feet unconsciously copied Italy's, and he was filled with a sudden hunger for something more than his own quiet life, for something more wild and ballistic. He closed his eyes and turned as his body began to fall into the fast speed. Everything was a blur of color, of bright light, of music so fast it was one continuous stream of mantra. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he could barely focus on Italy as he twisted and span. He had never felt anything this amazing before. He felt younger, lighter…

They continued to dance, their very world only a pounding pulsing thumping, and Italy's hand never left his.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen: Please**

Italy caught Japan as he stumbled, and Japan giggled childishly and hiccupped.

"Ahaha…Italia-kun…the lights are so pretty…"

Italy bit his lip and shook his head, tsking at the unbalanced Asian. He caught him as Japan narrowly tripped over a loose board.

"Japaaaan…I didn't know, I'm so sorry! I should have told you about the drinks down here before letting you have them! How many—hey! Are you listening to me?"

Japan was leaning against the wall, holding his head groggily. He squinted in Italy's direction. Everything was so fuzzy…he couldn't remember what he was doing…the music was still dimly throbbing inside him…Italy's words were an incomprehensible stream.

Italy sighed in confusion. He scratched his head. What was he going to do? He had never been in charge of anyone, and it was beyond strange to care for a drunken Japan. Japan was normally so calm and composed. How could he have not noticed how Japan was slowly becoming more and more unpredictable as the night wore on?

Japan was going to kill him when he got over this…

Speaking of which…

Italy looked around frantically.

"Oh no…"

Where had he reeled off to?

He pushed his way through the crowd, yelling out inquiries. Japan could get seriously hurt, they were on a boat after all. Not to mention the consequences if Japan ran into America. It would give the superpower every excuse to completely end their friendship, or even have Italy killed.

While he wouldn't die, being immortal, Italy didn't want to go through the agony or not be able to visit Japan never again. He had no one else anymore.

He heard a soft giggle that sent shivers down his spine from the door. Japan was leaning on the doorframe, eyes half-closed and smiling. Italy wondered what he was dreaming or seeing. It was also decidedly unnerving to see him in such a state. He cupped his hands like a megaphone and called.

"Japan!" he shouted, "Come over here, you're not feeling well and you need to sit down—"

To his dismay, Japan shook his head. He flew up the stairs.

"_H-HEY!"_

Italy took after him, wondering if he was ever this flighty or energetic. If so, he regretted it deeply.

He ran up onto the deck, stepping back as rain hit him full in the face. The night sky was an angry gray, storm clouds rumbling. The wind was violent and scathing. Italy paled as he saw Japan not far off trip on his soaked kimono, still laughing.

Italy cautiously held out his hand, as though he was approaching a shy cat. God, how was Japan staying upright? He himself was having a very difficult time in the whipping gale.

"Japan," he whispered gently, edging forward. Japan swayed precariously and stared at him blearily. His clothes were wet, and his damp hair was clinging to his face in a wild arrangement that the sober Japan would have cringed at.

"Come here…slowly…"

Japan stared at him with his deep eyes like he had never seen him before, and sank to the floor, eyes still on Italy as he held onto the pipes on the side of the cabin for support. Italy sighed in relief.

"Good, come here…"

Japan gazed wide-eyed at Italy, and suddenly he looked years younger. He started to come gradually closer.

"Just a little more…you'll get there…" Italy's hand was brushing his now. Only a little closer and he could pull him up.

At the touch, Japan bristled like a wounded animal. "Nooo…" he whispered softly, shutting his eyes. "I…want to sleep, leave…"

Italy reached out and grabbed Japan's arm.

"You can't sleep here, come with me. _Now,_ Japan!"

Japan broke free, his skin slippery from the rain. He got up shakily and shook his head again, bolting across the deck.

"_JAPAN!"_

Italy gritted his teeth and ran after him, heart pounding at the thought of how easily Japan could be swept right off the decks. No one was allowed up above when there was storms. Japan flitted unevenly as he ran, his usual catlike grace marred. Italy squeezed his eyes half-shut, trying to see clearly in the torrent. Lightning flashed, and he uttered a little cry, covering his mouth.

Japan was near the mast, and he was breathing heavily. He wavered, disoriented. Italy rushed forward.

Japan lurched dangerously backward, back hitting the metal railing. It was slick, and he lost balance completely. For a moment, he seemed to snap out of it, opening his mouth to scream as he plummeted backwards—

Italy let out a shout of despair, shooting out and grabbing Japan by the edge of his kimono. The fragile fabric strained, but held. Breathless, he began pulling Japan to him, to safety. But the intoxicated man across him dug his nails into the wood, tempest blowing his hair crazily.

"P-please! Stop it!" Italy was close to tears now, tears of fear. Japan mouthed something at him that he couldn't catch through the storm's wailing. Then, he repeated it louder.

"_Hic…_l-leave me…I w-want to be gone…I don't want to b-be with America…p-please don't make me…_kuasaimimasu, kami…"_

Italy's fingers slipped, and he screamed. Suddenly, strong hands closed over his own, and Italy didn't bother to look up as someone helped slide Japan towards him, and he wrapped his arms around him tightly. Japan shivered and whimpered, and Italy allowed himself to be led through the door of the cabin behind him.

The door closed, and the sound of the storm was reduced to nothing but a distant chant. Italy blinked in the flickering gaslight. A tall man smiled toothily at him, and a warm relief filled his stomach.

"P-Prussia?" he asked, and the German laughed boisterously. Italy realized he was soaking wet, and his teeth chattered. Japan was slumped against him, mouth slightly open and drooling. He was shaking violently, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes. The red-eyed albino draped a towel over his body, beginning to dry him off roughly.

"Wh-what are you d-doing here?" Italy asked, hugging his shoulders in an effort to keep from shivering. Prussia grinned, removing the towel and tossing his white hair free of water.

"Me? The awesome me is solely responsible for your very presence on this ship, Italy! You should get down on your knees and seriously worship me as your God—"

"Oh…I beat you at cards at the inn! I won the tickets!"

Prussia's face darkened. He muttered darkly.

"Y-yeah…I…l-lost on p-purpose…so there…"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen: Frying Pans**

Italy laid Japan down in the cot, taking note of how light he was. Japan was fast asleep, body caught up in a deep stupor. Italy shook his head.

"You are going to kill me."

Japan mumbled in his sleep, turning over. His hands twitched then relaxed. God, was he going to have a headache when he awoke…

Prussia stooped down next to Italy, offering him a plateful of steaming hot pancakes drenched in syrup. They were practically liquid batter with the amount the ex-nation had dumped on it.

"Want some?"

"Um, I'll pass."

"Fine, whatever. You have no idea what you are missing—"

Prussia took out a straw and began slurping it down, muttering about how Canada made them so much better than he did. Italy closed his eyes and leaned against the cot, trying to get comfortable on the hard floor. A blanket hit him in the face, and Italy pulled it off.

"There!" Prussia said, throwing a pillow after. "See if that works instead."

"Grazie."

Prussia squatted down on the floor, patting Italy's head.

"No problem, I'm so awesome I can sleep on the floor without anything!"

"W-wait, if these are yours, take them back, you need them—"

"Naaaw."

There was silence for a minute, only the banging of the heavy storm outside. Prussia rested on his hands, using the crook of his elbow as a makeshift pillow. Then,

"Who is that guy anyway?"

Italy yawned.

"His name is Japan. You haven't met him before?"

"Nope. Never. Is he….um…always….?"

"No. I don't think he's ever gotten intoxicated before. He's normally pretty calm and dignified. He acts like an old man, but he's really younger than that. I think he likes fun stuff like me, if only he'd try it more. He also eats strange but good food."

"Hmm…."

"What's 'hmmm'?"

Prussia stretched and grinned.

"Do you think I can become a nation again if I beat him up?"

Italy shook his head in shock. "No! Prussia! That's not nice!"

Prussia rolled his eyes. "It was only a joke. Not really. But he does look easy to push around."

"He'll kill you if you try anything," said Italy with a little more venom than he intended to, "He knows how to fight back. Don't tease him or anything."

Prussia grinned widely and rolled over, shrugging.

"Well, if he can make pancakes, that's all I care about."

Japan awoke to flickering light. He blinked, trying to get the blurriness out of his vision. He was somewhere warm and soft, but his head was pounding. He groaned.

The last thing he could remember clearly was dancing. Then eating and drinking, and watching everything float beyond his reach. He realized he was in an unfamiliar cot in an equally unfamiliar cabin. He sank under the sheet in shame, face burning.

He had gotten drunk. What did Italy think of him now? What had he done? Oh God…

What if this was America's cabin because he had found him somewhere stumbling around on the deck? He would kill Italy or worse…

Someone yanked the sheet off, and Japan blinked at a pair of red eyes very close to his own.

"Hmm," a deep voice pronounced, and Japan noticed that the speaker was a tall, white-haired pale man. He finally found his own voice.

"Where am I?"

The man laughed loudly.

"_Kesesesesesese!_ You're in the domain of the awesome one! Pay your respects or suffer horribly! You are now my personal pocket slave! Now, go shine my boots!"

Japan flushed as the man snapped his fingers.

"Pocket…slave? What…no. I am not!"

Prussia tapped the side of his nose, smiling widely. This was fun. It had been so long since he had had anyone new to bother…he put on his best imperialist air.

"If you refuse, I will be forced to punish you most horribly! I will pick you up and sit you up on the top shelf in the ballroom, and you won't be able to get down! I'm so much bigger than you, and there's nothing you can do about it! You will languish!"

Japan jumped out of the bed, pulling back his fist and punching a surprised Prussia in the face. Unexpectedly, something else other than his hand connected with Prussia's head with a bang.

As a stunned Prussia slid to the floor, Japan could see a girl standing behind him, wielding a large frying pan in her hands. She put it down and kicked Prussia off to the side.

"Hello," she said as way of greeting, setting the pan off to the side. She held out her hand. "My name is Hungary. I'm sorry about Prussia, he's an idiot. He doesn't mean it, he's just naturally unintelligent. Didn't want to have to use my pan first thing in the morning, too~"

Japan stared at the hand for a moment before accepting it, and Hungary shook it vigorously.

"Where am I?"

"You were drunk yesterday," Hungary stated as-matter-of-factly. "Italy and Prussia carried you here and let you sleep it off. I hope you learned your lesson—"She kicked Prussia again to emphasize her point, and Prussia whimpered, "and don't end up like this loser."

Japan nodded, blushing.

"Never again."

"Good. Now let's go get you something to eat."

Japan looked around, suddenly noticing the lack of Italian in the room.

"Where is Italia-kun?" he asked. Hungary shrugged.

"He left before you woke up. He didn't say anything about where he was going."

Odd. Italy usually did not just pick up and leave, Japan mused. This needed due investigation. He thanked Hungary and departed to search.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen: Chandelier **

Italy peeked out from behind the curtain, watching as Japan stepped into the ballroom. He bit his lip and slipped back into hiding. Japan was probably going to be angry with him for allowing him to get intoxicated, and Italy had only seen Japan mad twice. It was not an experience he wished to repeat.

"Italia-kun?" Japan called, looking around the vast room and up into the vaulted ceiling. He walked around in a circle, eyes roving until they came to rest on the quivering cloth curtain. Frowning, he walked up and pulled it aside. Italy shrieked, grabbing at it.

"Ah! J-Japan! What a co-coincidence to find you down here!" Italy laughed nervously, putting an arm behind his head timidly.

"Um…why were you hiding from me?" Japan deadpanned.

"Because…I was kinda afraid you were going to be upset with me for last night. I allowed you to get drunk. You could've gotten killed out on that deck. Not to mention your reputation and such. You're mad, aren't you? Don't hit me…"

Japan shook his head and sighed. "I am not angry with you, only myself. I should be more responsible. What's done is done. There is nothing to concern yourself with."

Italy seemed to instantly cheer up. "Really? I'm glad, then! Did you have a good time?"

Japan nodded, giving a little smile. "It was fun, and everyone was so nice to me. It was a welcome change."

Italy sat on the bottom of the stairs, crossing his legs, and Japan sat across.

"I can't imagine Signore America's face when he found out you had left early!" he said with a grin. "He needs to have things like that happen every once in a while."

"I don't hate him," Japan sighed. "He simply annoys me and will not take a hint. He also acts like the world is his."

"Yeah, "said Italy quietly, swinging his legs. " You are very nice, but I don't think I like him very much."

Japan craned back his head and did not reply. He studied the domed ceiling. It was impossibly high and covered with a lovely mural. In the center there was a glimmering chandelier, the crystals winking in the dawn light.

"I feel like that chandelier up there," Japan finally said, breaking the silence. Italy looked up from where he was scuffing the carpet.

"Why?"

He lowered his head and closed his eyes tiredly.

"Because, as a country, we are all like the crystals in the chandelier. We will all break someday, but yet we cling on and pretend we will live forever. It is as if we live in a fragile hourglass."

"…No."

"No?"

Italy shook his head and edged along the stair so he was sitting right next to him. He pointed up at the ceiling.

"Japan, we may all be like the brittle crystals on that chandelier, but we don't have to fall. Of course, we will all fall someday, like Grandpa Rome did. But we can defy the issues and burdens the world throws at us."

"How?" Japan whispered, and he didn't open his eyes. "I feel so helpless right now."

"Well, how do you think those crystals are staying on that chandelier in the first place? It's screws or supports or something, right? I think this one is threaded on wires…anyway, what I'm trying to say is, that if your wire, I mean, heart, is strong enough, you can take anything."

He patted his shoulder. "You could survive crash after crash. And in the end, you can only trust in God and your beliefs to keep you aloft," he finished.

Japan looked up at him.

"I never knew you were quite so philosophical."

"Inner Cicero and Dante."

Italy got up, stretching. He muttered something about curtains being cramped and started to climb up the stairs. Japan remained sitting for a moment, contemplating Italy's words. Eventually, he dismissed his tumultuous thoughts and followed.

"Did you eat breakfast?" Italy asked, barely turning. Japan shook his head.

"No, I came after you first. And Prussia-kun's pancakes look very unappealing—"

"Well, it's good you didn't eat, because this would probably make you vomit—"

Italy whirled around and caught him by the waist, hoisting him up onto the banister. Japan barely had time to react, and he stiffened in shock.

"Wh-what…is this…?" he stuttered.

Italy swung both legs over and joined him, grinning fit to bust. He didn't answer, only wrapped both arms firmly around Japan's middle. Japan opened his mouth to protest, flushing, but Italy pushed off the top of the stairs.

He dimly heard his own shriek as their bodies slid down the long stairs at a speed unprecedented. Everything spun past as they went down, and Italy giggled behind him.

It all came to an abrupt stop as they finally reached the bottom, and Japan hit the column and flew off the banister and onto the floor in an undignified heap.

"Oof," was all he managed as Italy sailed through the air with the same finesse and landed on top of him. Italy was laughing breathlessly.

"That was so much fun…ahahaha…"

He was unable to dodge Japan's foot as it connected solidly with his jaw, and he went down, still laughing. Japan sat up, face red and his hair at odd angles.

"_You could have killed me, Italia-kun!"_

Italy shrugged, still grinning. "You looked so miserable, I couldn't help it. I thought it would cheer you up."

"No! What if we fell off halfway? What if the landing hit me or you against the far wall? What would we have done then?"

Japan was still resolutely punching at Italy, eyebrows furrowed. Italy ducked narrowly.

"But we didn't! Admit you liked it!"

"No! How dare you presume that! How _dare_ you pick me up like a child and force me to…to…_participate in the improper usage of railings!_"

Italy grabbed his hands so he couldn't hit him anymore. He smiled widely.

"You did like it! And either way, it's better to see you with some emotion other than sad or indifferent…"

Japan huffed indignantly and patted down his kimono.

"I will speak no more of it. From this, I assume you did not eat breakfast…?"

Italy wobbled and shook his head. He swayed and covered his mouth, smiling weakly.

"Urgh…I did eat…"

France watched with amusement as England yelled at Austria.

"No! I said no!"

Austria raised a delicate eyebrow and tapped his foot.

"Why not?"

England nearly tore at his blond hair.

"Because, Austria, dinner is for _eating_, not for being forced to listen to an eight-hour piano solo!"

Austria's face turned slightly petulant. His glasses glinted, and he smoothed out his crisp uniform and coat.

"…But I want to. This boat needs culture and something to distract themselves from the poisoned hogswallop you feed them and those furred things I deign to call eyebrows," Austria said coolly.

England reddened at the jab at his cooking, and he shook a finger in Austria's face.

"I said _no,_ you bloody dolt, and that is my final answer!" he fumed, and he gestured at the open door. "Now sod off and bake a bloody chocolate cake, or whatever it is you Austrians do!"

Austria tilted his head and spun on one impeccable heel.

"As you wish, _Captain_ England."

As soon as he was out of earshot, England collapsed on the chair next to France with a frustrated sigh. He reached up and felt his eyebrows restlessly.

"Should I trim them?" he asked France. France shrugged and turned the page of his book nonchalantly.

"When you were young, I would often try to cut your hair in an attempt to keep it under control, and would often dream of shearing those hideous eyebrows. But now," France replied pensively, "I think they just add to your abrasive and equally hideous personality."

"And I am reminded why I do not ask your opinion on anything," muttered England darkly.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen: Charcoal**

"Have you dreamt anything lately?"

Italy and Japan were both in Japan's cabin, and Italy was sprawled on the bed, head hanging upside down. Japan was sitting calmly across, a cup of tea balanced in his thin fingers.

"No, not really," Italy answered, and he squinted at the far wall. "Everything looks so funny upside down…ahahaha…especially you…"

Japan sighed and leaned over Italy.

"Do not lie to me. I can tell when you are lying. Your ears go all red."

Italy blushed and sat up. He looked down at the suddenly fascinating sheet.

"Well, I didn't _dream,_ but I found something weird in my pocket yesterday."

"Show me."

Italy reached into his pants and pulled out a crinkled, yellowed piece of paper. He handed it over, and Japan turned it over and over in his palm. The paper was old and musty, and its surface was a little rough.

"I don't know where it came from," Italy said, "I've never seen it before, I never even knew I had it. I feel like I'm going crazy."

Japan unfolded it carefully, doing his best to not damage the ancient parchment. It was a charcoal drawing, slightly smudged. The background was vague, and a person's face was in sharp focus. Everything else was loose and imprecise, whereas the face was in vivid detail. It appeared to be a young woman with shorter hair, black and shiny. Her expression was serene, and her skin was shaded pale. Her eyes were closed, black eyelashes picked out with soot black. There were faded flowers around her, and Japan got the strange feeling she was not living. Perhaps she was merely asleep, he comforted himself. Asleep with marguerites all around with her head laid back…

He handed it back to Italy.

"It looks like a girl. You probably drew it and forgot about it. You do draw a lot, and it's very easy to forget about the little sketches."

Italy bit his lip. "Maybe…"

He studied it, trying to remember where he had seen the girl before. Japan was probably right, he reflected, flicking his eyes up to watch him take a sip of his tea steadily. There was no reason to make it into something bigger than it was.

…_Japan._

He held up the paper to Japan, straining his eyes as he looked back and forth between the two. How was it even possible…?

"Kiku," he asked urgently, and Japan looked up. "Quick, lie down and close your eyes."

Japan gazed over at him coolly. He took a long draught of his tea.

"…No."

"Look, please, just for a second, I need to see something—"

Japan sighed and eased back, placing his now empty cup onto the side table. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

Italy concentrated, glancing back and forth. He studied the two, the picture and Japan. No, no, this wasn't a girl, this was a young man. A young man…

He stared at Japan's hair spilling over the pillow, at his breath warming the air. He felt a chill run down his spine. Italy shook Japan by the shoulders.

"Ow! You don't need to do that, words are quite sufficient—"

Italy shoved the paper at him.

"It's not a girl, Kiku, it's _you._"

Japan's eyes widened and he bolted straight up, snatching the sketch away from Italy.

"Oh, _kami…_"

"I know! You're alive! Why do you look so dead in the picture? And this must be at least five hundred years old! I didn't even know you then—"

"…I look nothing like _this._"

Italy stared at Japan, who was tugging at his hair and examining the paper. He coughed meaningfully and shook his head.

"Um, that has nothing to do with this. And you kind of _do_ look like that…_._ Anyway, this picture scares me now. I don't remember ever drawing it…"

Japan sighed and handed it back.

"I don't know what it means," he said quietly.

"Me either," Italy whispered. "But I feel like I'm going insane."

Japan opened his mouth to answer, but the door swung open with a bang.

America strode in and plopped onto the only chair, crossing his legs.

"Hiya," he said as way of greeting. Japan's lips went thin.

"Hello."

"I've got someone for you," America continued, ignoring Italy whimpering in the corner.

"Y'know, someone to watch over you when I'm not here, to keep you safe. Don't want someone to take you away, right?"

He looked meaningfully at Italy, who looked as though he wanted to sink into the floor and vanish. Japan shook his head.

"That is unnecessary as well as undesirable. I can take care of myself—"

"No," America interrupted, tapping his fingers on the sheet, "Consider it as a favor, a gift, as one more heroic thing I am doing to help your brainwashed soul. He will be with you twenty-four hours and make sure you don't get hurt…or talk to the wrong people, for instance."

Japan understood the hidden meaning behind the words, and before he could argue, a large shadow blocked all the light from the door. The air became immediately charged with tense electricity.

"….Russia-san," Japan said in a clipped tone. The tall man smiled, his ever-present scarf doing nothing to hide it. Italy squeaked from his corner.

"_Privyet,_ Japan."

America grinned, patting Russia on the back.

"So, Russia will be with you for a while, okay? At least until we're off this ship and I can watch over you personally—"

"Why?"

Japan's question was sharp and direct, and he narrowed his eyes at Russia. America shrugged.

"Ah, well, he volunteered for it, and Germany doesn't want to see you anymore, and I am _waaay_ too busy, so—"

Japan knew America was bluffing, he trusted Russia no more than he did. The only reason to put him up to this sort of job was to pay Japan back and punish him for his insolence toward America.

Russia stepped forward, easily two times Japan's size. He sat down next to him, nearly throwing him off with the weight, and smiled his strange smile as America left.

"So nice of Amerika to hand me this job when I volunteered—"

"I bet you did."

Russia gave a little childish giggle. "You don't need to have such an expression. Things are different now, right? Our little quarrel's in the past…"

"_Get. Out_."

"Don't be like that," Russia said, shifting and leering toward him, forcing him to shrink against the wall, "I just want to do my job and possibly start over. Now fix your tone."

The way he said it was cheerful but threatening at the same time. Japan swallowed a shudder.

"I said _get out,_ you irradiated monster!"

Italy shrieked as Russia suddenly pinned Japan against the wall with a loud slam, bringing a few cases off the small shelf and table. Japan gagged as Russia found his neck.

"Japan, Japan, let's not start off like this. You don't want me to forget what Amerika said, or get angry. I do not like getting angry, and I _really_ don't want to lose myself and snap your fragile little throat. That would be nasty, wouldn't it?"

"Go away, don't touch me," Japan hissed, and he kicked at his shoulder with a bare foot. It had no effect, and Russia shrugged it off. He then spat contemptuously in Russia's face.

Russia let him drop, wiping it away and still wearing his unwavering smile.

"Good, no more of it. We'll be respectful now, _da_?"

Japan rubbed his abused throat, glaring but not saying a word. Russia turned to Italy.

"As first order of business," he asked pleasantly, "Would you please get out of the room and don't come back? Oh, and I don't want to see you near Japan anymore, okay?"

Italy wobbled, and all he gave was a pathetic squeal before dashing out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen: Precious**

The sea air was deep and cool, smelling slightly of salt. France could taste it as he made his way across the deck to England.

"Angleterre," he asked, and England cocked his head in acknowledgement, "You never told me what path we are to take across next."

England sighed and turned around. He pulled France forward by the map he was holding and studied it. He traced a finger over the blue-ink sea and handed it back.

"There. Now you know, frog. Now leave me alone."

Worry started to make its way across the Frenchman's face.

"That's…the same path of the original Titanic, over forty years ago."

"And?"

"Isn't that asking for something to happen?"

England exhaled in irritation and leaned over the railing.

"We are much more powerful than we were then. All the screws have been triple-checked, and our new computer system hooked to the ship will alert us to unusual shifting. This ship, the Titanic II, was made as a celebration of our triumph over the Axis. We overcame the biggest threat to universal peace in history, and I intend to memorialize it by conquering this."

"You sound like Amerique," France muttered. England raised an eyebrow.

"I beg your pardon?"

France looked him straight in the eye. "The arrogance. I know where he got it from now. From growing up in the British Empire's shadow. I always knew your pride would make you fall someday, but you better hope to God above you haven't done it this time."

England shrugged, and, thoroughly frustrated, France left.

Japan hated it. He hated the way Russia hovered around him, looming and smiling. He was behind Japan at that very moment, not saying a word as Japan looked out over the ocean.

_I will never get tired of this view,_ Japan promised himself. He grimaced openly at Russia as the large man sidled next to him. _If only that hulking beast was not spoiling it._

He supposed he also missed Italy. It was too quiet, that was for sure. And boring, as much as he would hate to admit it.

Japan got off from the rail and walked away, trying his best to ignore the way Russia fell into step next to him. He stopped, clenching his fists.

"Go back to stalking China-san," he scowled. Russia giggled, high-pitched and slightly psychotic.

"I'm not stalking you, I'm doing my job," he explained, wagging his finger like he was a child, "And I never stalked China. I just….followed him around without being seen and watched his every move. That's not stalking."

"It kind of is."

Russia didn't reply, only tittered. Japan stopped midstep at a bathroom cabin. They were novel in their design, and England was especially proud of them. But now, they could…

"I'm going in," he informed Russia, turning to go inside. Russia came forward, but Japan shoved him back.

"Don't be ridiculous, you can't follow me—"

"It doesn't have a separate sink area?"

Japan thought furiously. "Um, no. Just restrooms. Stay out. Don't come in."

With that, he slammed the door shut.

As soon as he was safely inside, Japan climbed up on the toilet lid, praying the porcelain held. The bathroom had two stalls, and a wall separated the two down to the floor. But up near the ceiling, there was a small opening. If he could get into the opposite stall, he could open the side door.

…And get away from Russia.

He grunted and reached for the edge of the wall, sliding his feet off the toilet tank. He hauled himself up with an effort, earning a scrape on the cheek. His heart pounded, blood rushing to his ears as he slowly lowered himself down.

He had misjudged the distance to get down, and he fell hard onto the floor. It took a moment for him to come to his senses, and he stood up unsteadily. Japan opened the door silently, looking both ways. No Godzilla in sight. He was free.

He stepped out, and didn't have time to cry out before a huge hand closed over his face and pulled him back.

"Ah, I thought you might try something like that," sing-songed Russia, using his free hand to hold back Japan's struggles. "Amerika warned me you were tricky, not that I don't know that anyway…._fufufufu…._"

He let out his strange giggle. "Amerika told me what to do if things got out of hand. And I think things just did, don't you think? You're going to be in your room for all the next two weeks, fast asleep, until you reach Amerika's home—"

Japan's struggles slowed as the lack of oxygen began to affect him, and he slumped slightly, still flailing. Russia removed his hand from his nose and mouth, and Japan gasped raggedly. He kicked wildly, and Russia took a syringe from his pocket. He pinned him to the deck, straddling the small man between his legs.

"Hold still…."

Japan started to cry, punching at him with small fists. "No no _no_….you…._c-can't_…."

He let out a scream when the syringe was plunged none too gently into the side of his neck, jerking in pain as the drug flowed into his bloodstream. His eyes widened, and black spots crept into his vision.

"A-ah…b-but….I-Italy…no, no, no, _please…_F….F-Feliciano…"

His eyes closed as he slipped into unconsciousness, and Russia stood up. He picked him up, slinging him over one shoulder. To an average man of average height, Russia was already very tall and strong. But to Japan, who was diminutive and shorter than many women, he was freakishly massive. Russia nodded as America came onto deck.

"I did what you said to if he got out of control. He was trying to run away."

America sighed, coming forward and taking Japan from his arms. He wiped the trickle of blood from his throat, eyeing Russia reproachfully.

"You could've been more gentle."

"Me? Gentle with little Japan? Of course, Amerika. _Always._"

The way he said it was condescending and sarcastic, despite the childish tone to it, and America shuddered. He did not like Russia at all. Nevertheless, Japan and Russia were on even worse terms, and Russia was the only person fit for the job. In addition, he was a fitting punishment for Japan's audacity.

"I'm so sorry, Kiku," he murmured, and Japan was silent and limp in his arms, the sheen of sweat he had built up in his resistance visible. America wiped it away with his sleeve.

"I just, you know, I can't have you running away from me. You're precious. My country could use you and your country so much. I'll make it as easy for you as I can. You just need to cooperate with me; I promise it's for the good of the world. You and I, combined, we'll be the hero this world wants and needs." He stopped to take a deep breath.

"Everything requires sacrifice. Especially the really good things, Kiku. I'll make you realize how important you are to the United States of America up 'till the end. It's _worth_ dying for, you'll see."

"You do realize he's completely unconscious?" Russia murmured next to him, and America let out an irritated sigh. He reached Japan's room, and laid him out on the bed, covering him with his bomber jacket.

He left him there, locking and bolting the door. America tossed the key to Russia.

"Keep that safe," he ordered, and strode off.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen: Remedy**

Japan couldn't feel, he couldn't see. There were voices on the edge of his consciousness, but his brain was unable to understand the words. Wherever he was, he was warm and dry, and he struggled to focus on the sensation of a soft pillow against his cheek. He let out a small moan, uncomprehending. Dream….it was like a dream….then…a disjointed feeling of pain…

Nothing. He closed his heavy eyes with an effort and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Russia finished injecting the syringe into his skin, placing it off to the side. Japan needed a new dose every eight hours to keep him from waking completely. Japan would have to remain in his dreamlike state for the rest of the trip, drifting in and out of consciousness.

Japan made a small sound, but he didn't move. Russia checked his pulse. It was slow, but steady. Russia stood up and left, securing the door behind him.

Italy cautiously approached the cabin from across the deck. His breath hitched as he saw that Russia was standing guard outside, leaning on the door. He struggled to quiet his beating heart.

Was Japan okay? Italy wondered. He hadn't been out in _hours_. There had to be something wrong. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach as he suddenly realized he was not alone.

Italy turned around slowly.

"H-hello, America," he stuttered, and the superpower smiled a very fake smile. It was plastic and held no real warmth to it.

"Hi, Italy," he answered, then, "So, where were you going?"

"Nowhere," Italy whispered, taking a step back. America laughed and ruffled his hair.

"Good boy."

Italy looked over at the cabin, then back at America hopefully.

"J-Japan…c-can he come out?"

America's face darkened for a moment, then changed as fast as it had come.

"No," he said evenly, "Now, go back to third class and stay there if you know what's best for you and Japan."

"What did you do to him?" Italy asked, feeling resentment build up inside him. America actually reached forward and gripped his shoulder, but Italy bit his lip and refused to cry out.

"Go back and stay there. And don't you even _dare_ try to come over to my house once we're there."

"_What did you do to him?_" Italy yelled, and America threw him down contemptuously and stalked away.

Italy scrambled up, breathing hard. Japan needed to be out of there, and he wasn't going to let America get away with this. He had never been very fond of America in the first place, but now, he could feel a powerful hatred surge through his veins. Something dimly reminded him that America was not all bad and meant well, but his brain insisted otherwise.

It was a feeling a lot like his dream of dying. Italy took a deep breath and dashed straight toward Russia. He skidded halfway there, braking.

No, the same tactic would not work. What use would he be to a rescue if he was dead?

He crept around the cabin, painfully aware of how close Russia was. One sound, one wrong move, and he'd end up dead or worse, he shuddered. He felt around in one of his pockets, fingers closing around a small rock he had picked up from the seashore the day he had boarded. It was a shame he would have to use it like this, he reflected remorsefully. It really was a pretty rock.

He aimed, praying for a straight shot, and threw it as far as he could across the deck. Russia turned his head, and Italy dashed to where the rock was and banged straight into the side of the cafeteria building. This was a stupid plan, he thought. He should've thrown it last, not first—

"Oh, K-Kiku," he forced out, trying to sound as clueless and cheerful as he could, "Wh-what are you doing out?"

Russia came over to investigate, and he barely had time to pick up his rock and dash behind the building. He was going to die, he was going to die…

He threw the rock as far as his arm would take it, and waited with bated breath. It clanged far away, and Russia broke into a run in its direction.

Italy waited until his footsteps were out of earshot, and sprinted back to the cabin.

The door wouldn't open. Italy rattled it in frustration. A key was required. He cursed himself for not thinking. Of _course_ there would be a key!

A sudden idea hit him, and he circled around to the small window. He hesitated before raising a fist, looking around warily for Russia. Taking a deep breath, he pulled back and let loose.

He cried out without meaning to as the glass smashed, shards sticking in his knuckles. He pulled it back and nursed the cuts.

"Oooow," he moaned weakly.

After all that, the window looked too small for him to squeeze into. Italy carefully stuck his upper body through, trying to squeeze in his shoulders. He gritted his teeth and ignored the stray glass pieces that found its way into his uniform and kicked them away with his boots.

He fell in a heap on the floor of the cabin, slipping through with a tight _pop._ He stood up, doing his best to wipe away the sharp pieces off the front of his shirt. Blood was beginning to drip off his hands and run down his arms.

Japan was lying on the bed, and Italy froze. Was he asleep? His eyes were shut, and his mouth was slightly open, his hair mussed. Italy forced himself to relax. Japan wasn't dead, he wasn't dead, why would he be? Nevertheless, it was still a chilling image. He cautiously took a step forward and took hold of Japan's shoulders.

"Japan? Japan? Wake up…Japan?"

He didn't answer, and his head lolled back limply. Italy started to panic, fighting to calm himself down. He shook him harder, feeling anxious tears making their way down his cheeks. Why would America kill Japan? He needed him, didn't he? So why wasn't he responding?

"K-Kiku, _wake up, please…_"

Japan's hands twitched, and Italy let out a sigh of relief. He lifted him up, supporting his back.

"Oh, good, I was so afraid you were dead or something…hey, what's wrong with you?"

Japan made a sound, and his hands reached up and gripped Italy's shoulders.

He exhaled deeply, eyes still closed.

"China-san," he murmured, and Italy was confused. Japan mumbled and sighed.

"He must be dreaming about when he was little," Italy surmised, and slid his hands under his body and lifted him up. He staggered with his dead weight toward the window, grunting as he strove to lift him up high enough to push him out.

Japan thudded heavily to the deck outside, and Italy landed next to him. He picked him up again, noting that a shard of glass had pierced Japan's arm. He swept it off carefully and started to walk away.

Russia returned to the cabin, feeling suspicious. He had investigated the sound thoroughly, and could not find anything. As his boot crunched on broken glass, he knew he should have stayed.

He kicked open the door, not bothering with the key. Sure enough, the sheets were overturned and there was only a hollowed depression where Japan had been. He raised an eyebrow as his sharp eyes caught sight of the drops of blood on the floor. Whoever had broken in had been injured. He followed it with his eyes as it trailed outside the window and down the deck.

Russia bent down and swirled a finger in the blood idly. Italy, it was most likely Italy. The fool was too naïve and easy. He was trouble and nothing but.

He got up and went to go find America and tell him his secret weapon had been stolen.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen: Drive Away**

Italy squinted in the dim light, bumping into several boxes and nearly slipping on the damp floorboards.

He was below deck, amongst luggage and cargo, and the air was stale. He gagged. He adjusted Japan's comatose body so he could carry him on his shoulder. His hand hurt horribly, and he made a vow to never repeat it again. It had stopped dripping blood halfway down the stairs down, and he was grateful it hadn't been worse.

He wandered, searching for a suitable place to hide. Italy stopped, and he looked ahead at a large dark shape. As his eyes became accustomed to the dimness, he could see it was a large, old-fashioned car. England's, probably.

He took a deep breath and placed Japan on the backseat, closing the door behind him.

The bloody trial ended off at the stairs that led below deck, and America cursed aloud. There were many floors below.

"This will take hours," said Russia.

"Thank you for your bright observation," America snapped. Russia shrugged.

"You could always just leave them be, Amerika."

America whirled around, anger flashing behind his glasses. "No. Not ever. Not until—"

He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

"Not until Japan is safely within my country and Italy is eradicated. Italy was with Germany, Russia. Doesn't that bother you, to have your enemy stealing what could be your answer to the world's problems? Japan will use his intellect to help me build the most powerful weapon ever created, something to rival the nuclear bomb that dropped on Hiroshima. I will be unstoppable, and finally, every country will _have to_ listen to _me_, totally and completely. And I will start by making this world a better place, and it will all be thanks to Japan. Even if I have to merge with him to achieve this, and we probably will, it will be worth it. His sacrifice will not go unnoticed."

He stopped to draw a deep breath, and Russia shook his head.

"That's only because you'll be the only one coming out of that alive either way you look at it, Amerika."

America's lip trembled, and his face contracted, but he did not answer.

Everything was blurry and dark. Japan could catch a faint sound as someone talked to him, but he could not understand. The voice sounded nice, with a trace of concern. He tried to respond, but only managed a groan. He licked his dry lips and tried again.

"I-Italy…"

Italy stared at Japan, surprised. He gathered him up in his arms in relief.

"Oh God, you're okay! I was afraid you would never wake up, we've been here for hours…"

Japan wiggled weakly in an attempt to get away from Italy's crushing, tearful hug.

"U-Urgh…wh-what….where….am…I?"

He struggled to focus on the words, and he strained his eyes as Italy's face became clearer.

"We're in a car, down below deck," Italy explained, and he let Japan out of his embrace. Japan fell sideways, unable to keep his balance. He hit his head on the side of the door and gave a weak cry of pain.

Italy grabbed him, keeping him upright.

"S-Sorry! We'll stay in here, okay? At least until you feel better and we can hide somewhere else, somewhere more comfortable."

"Thank you," Japan murmured, and he closed his eyes blearily. Italy laid him down carefully onto the soft leather seat and stepped out, closing the door. Japan opened one eye, staring at him through half-closed lids.

"Where…are you…going?"

Italy simply grinned and plopped into the front seat. He swept his hat from his pocket, shaking it out before placing it on his head at a jaunty angle.

"Where to, sir?" he asked, grabbing the front wheel cheerfully.

Japan forced himself to sit up, giving a small frail smile.

"Anywhere…I want…to go to an island…like the one we were….stranded on…"

"Very good, sir. And what kind of island?"

Italy put on a fake serious face, and he raised one eyebrow in mock dignity. Japan gave a little laugh.

"One with…white sand…and blue water…and a sunset….with all the colors…"

Italy bobbed his head, pushing on the pedal.

"As you wish, sir! _Vroom, vroom!"_

Italy supplied sound effects, and he screeched joyfully to a pretend stop.

"We're here, Kiku!" he sang, jumping out of the seat and opening the side door. He bowed low, eyes twinkling.

"And it is…beautiful," Japan whispered as Italy slid in next to him, "Smooth…sand…and crashing waves…like I've…always dreamed…"

Italy turned towards him, face genuinely solemn.

"Kiku, how about as soon as this boat touches shore, you and I run away?"

Japan's eyes widened until Italy could distinguish his dark pupils from his iris.

"Dangerous…my country needs me…"

Italy shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. They'll be fine. When the time comes, I'll talk to America myself or fight him. I don't care. And if you disagree still-" he laughed lightly, "I will kidnap you and force you to come with me to Italy! Think about it, Kiku! I have a villa next to the beach, and I have a field of grapevines and tomatoes. As soon as we get there, I promise I'll build you a cozy little villa just for you in the middle of those fields. I'll build it of white plaster and paint the walls with pictures. I'll inlay tiles in every room, huge mosaics that go up to the ceiling, and plant an herb and flower garden in the back. I'll dig you a small pool and lay it with cool tiles. You'll be happy there, and you'll never have to worry about anything ever again."

"…Wh-why?"

Japan was taken aback at the words. Touched also, he supposed. Italy smiled at him.

"I want to make you happy, because you almost never are. I want you to just be carefree, to only worry about yourself."

"Th-Thank you…but, please…don't go to the trouble, Italia-kun…you'll get hurt," Japan protested. Italy waved a hand.

"I'll be fine. There's a beach, too! Remember, I'll take you by force no matter what!" he joked, and Japan could feel his heart swell up with anxiety but also contentment. He would leave, run away with Italy. Things would finally be different.

Italy idly dragged his finger in the dust of the car window, drawing squiggles. He turned to Japan.

"Hey, you can draw too!" he said, and Japan lifted a heavy hand. "Now…to pass the time, let's play a small game…just follow what I say!"

"Draw an eye," he ordered, and Japan obeyed, fingers still unsteady.

"Now a heart," he said. Japan wrinkled his nose at the dust and traced out an anatomically correct heart onto the window.

"Now a u, like the letter…"

"I don't see the point of this…game…" Japan complained, doing as he was told anyway reluctantly. "How do…I win…point system…? W-wait…"

Japan's eyes went huge at the drawings. Italy couldn't hold it in and he burst into laughter, high like bells. Japan started to punch at him with surprising strength, pounding at his chest.

"H-how…dare…you…! Th-that…you…! You…are atrocious…!"

Italy didn't bother ducking, only laughed harder until tears streamed out his eyes.

"God, I'm sorry…I'm sorry, already…stop…_ahahaha!_...punching me! _Ow! Ahahaha!_"

Japan finally exhausted himself, but he kicked at Italy one more time. Italy opened his mouth to respond, the smile still at the corner of his lips, but there was a crash outside the car.

Both of them stiffened. Sure enough, there were voices.

"Japan?" America called, and he was much too close to the car.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty: Who**

Canada shivered with the cold, leaning on a damp box. He had watched as Italy had entered with a small amount of fear, carrying Japan in his arms. After all, he had been at war with the Axis only a few years ago, and he couldn't figure out what Italy might be up to. His bloody hand and Japan's unconsciousness made him afraid.

No one saw or noticed him down below deck. He hadn't even needed to buy a ticket. Canada sniffed and allowed America to pass him by. It was as if he was simply part of the architecture, he thought bitterly.

"Japan?" America called, and Canada looked at the car. They were in there. What did America want with them? He had no clue as to what was happening up above on the deck, and no one would tell him anyway.

No one talked to the brick wall. Why would they even bother?

He recalled hours before, as he had observed Italy's joy on Japan's awakening, and he had caught snatches of their conversation. They were hiding, that much he could deduct. They were hiding form America, his brother.

America pulled a gun from his jacket, and Canada swallowed hard. America flicked off the safety, his face set and emotionless.

He raised it and shot. There was a bang, the sound of glass shattering, and a high-pitched scream. There was a loud thud. The scream stabbed into Canada's eardrums, and he dropped to the floor, clapping both hands over his ears.

Japan held his breath, praying the sound of his beating heart wasn't as loud as he thought it was. Italy whimpered and found his hand, clutching it tightly. Japan squeezed back in response, then let go abruptly. He caught sight of Italy's hand, the blood dry and cracked.

_You are injured, _he mouthed. Italy shook his head.

_ It doesn't matter._

Suddenly, something whizzed by both of their heads and grazed Italy's cheek. The bullet smashed into the window, and Japan found his voice enough to scream as Italy shoved him to the floor.

Italy's hand clumsily fumbled with the door handle, and he opened it. Both of them tumbled out, scrambling to their feet.

Japan reeled, still off balance. But there was no time as Italy took off in a run, dragging him behind.

America fired again, missing Italy by inches. They wove their way in between the boxes and crates, and Japan shrieked as another bullet exploded the wall next to them.

"_Leave us alone!_" Italy yelled. His voice wavered with terror, and his breath came in sharp pants. Japan cried out and tripped, knees buckling. America's hand snaked out and snatched him back by a fistful of his black hair.

"You come with me right now," America hissed, and the wrath he exuded seemed to make the very air electric. He was barely out of breath, having bound across the room in a single leap. As a superpower, he was endowed with physical strength the other nations simply didn't have.

Italy stopped, and he balled his fist and punched the United States of America right in the face. He spun around without giving time for him to recover, kicking the side of his knee. America swore, bending over.

Canada watched the proceedings, and he shivered at his brother's fury. What did he want so much? He had never liked his brother's violent tendencies, and he certainly did not like it now. He stepped forward, raising a hand.

"H-Hey….America…"

It was as if he couldn't hear, as if everyone present was deaf to him and only him. Canada gritted his teeth in frustration as America grabbed Japan, only to be hit by Italy.

He came forward as America stood up to try again, and in a split moment of hasty resolution, kicked him in the leg.

America fell to his knees with a surprised _oof,_ and Italy and Japan climbed up the stairs. Canada let out a little undignified squeal at the result of his actions, then kicked America again.

America wheezed and reloaded his gun, and he stood shakily up. He seemed not to even notice Canada, to his utter disbelief. With a curse, America took off before Canada could say a word, and Canada was left all alone once more.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One: Impact**

Italy whimpered as thudding footsteps pounded behind them. They were both panting heavily as they ran down the hallway.

"H-He's catching up!" Italy wailed, and Japan nearly keeled over.

"A-ah…Italy…I can't…run…" he gasped, struggling to stay upright. The drug was still within his system, and it would be many more hours before it was gone completely. Italy bit his lip nervously, then suddenly tugged him to the nearby elevator door. He pressed the button furiously.

"Y-you don't have to! Get in, hurry!"

Italy yelped as Russia turned the corner, and America came racing around the other. He pounded at the button.

"Faster! Come _ooooon_!" he pleaded. The door made a friendly little tinkling and slid open, and both of them collapsed inside.

"Cut them off!" America yelled, and Italy gave a cry as a bullet thudded into the metal door. The elevator squeaked as it started to move.

"Take that!" Italy hollered. He grinned widely, but his smile quickly faltered as the elevator stopped.

"What is—"Japan started to ask, but they were both thrown back against the wall hard. There was a horrible screeching sound as the metal door buckled and twisted, and Russia forced the door open all the way with his bare hands.

Italy gulped as the door collapsed in on itself, and Russia smiled. He grabbed Italy by his shirt front and pulled him up. The elevator had only been able to travel a few feet downward before being stopped by the superpower.

Japan looked up, and he barely had time to say anything before America kicked through the ceiling door and dropped in. America straightened to his full height, which was difficult in the cramped elevator. He snatched Japan by the back of his kimono and yanked him off his feet.

"Thank you," America said brusquely to Russia, and the nation shrugged and readjusted his hold on a wildly kicking Italy. Japan reached out, and America slammed him to the ground.

"It seems nothing can hold you down, doesn't it?" America said, holding him down. He narrowed his eyes at Italy. "And not to mention that boy keeps getting in the way…Russia?"

Russia nodded and caught the pistol America tossed him, clicking it and placing it to Italy's head.

Japan froze under America, and America took out a syringe.

"I'll just have to stay in the room with you at all times," he was saying. "And with that Italian out of the way—"

"N-no…" Japan cried, and he struggled weakly. America frowned.

"Look, just go to sleep. It will be better when you wake up, I promise."

Japan shook his head and began to cry, tears running down his cheeks. America stiffened.

"D-don't…kill…Italy…he didn't….do….anything…" Japan sobbed, and America signaled to Russia to wait.

"But….Kiku, I need to. He'll only get in the way, you see?" America explained. "He'll be a distraction from what's important. Not to mention those messed-up ideals he fed you during the war—"

Japan sobbed harder, clutching onto his jacket pitifully. He was crying, mostly out of fear, but he also knew his tears affected America heavily, and if he made someone cry it made him feel unheroic.

America sighed and looked away.

"Fine," he said reluctantly, then, "Let him go, Russia."

Russia obeyed, and Italy tripped and fell down. Russia helped him up roughly, and Italy stumbled a little clumsily.

At the last moment, he swung around and darted, grabbing the gun out of Russia's pocket. He pointed it at America, lips bared in a feral rage Japan had only seen when he was in the middle of war.

Russia stepped forward, and Italy warned, "I'll shoot."

Russia shrugged. "Go ahead. I do not like him anyway."

America stared down the gun barrel, for once without words. Japan took advantage of it and grabbed the syringe, squirming out of his grasp.

"Hey!"

"_Shut up, America,_" Japan growled, and he stuck it in his shoulder. America's eyes rolled up in his head and he went into a dazed sleep.

Russia smirked and went towards Italy, unfazed by the gun in his shaking hands. He suddenly stopped and tipped over with a loud thud. A familiar face was behind him.

"Hungary!" Italy exclaimed, and the girl lowered her frying pan, eyes gleaming.

"Need help?" she asked, and Prussia came up behind her. He grinned at Russia groaning on the ground.

"Hey, there loser," he crowed, and he did a little dance, sticking his tongue out immaturely. "I always knew awesomeness would prevail…._kesesese…"_

Russia tried to swipe at Prussia's leg, and the ex-nation squeaked and ran behind Hungary.

"I'm so glad you guys came," Italy began, helping Japan up. "I thought we really had it that time—"

The entire ship rocked, and there was an earsplitting grinding as every one of them was bodily flung to the floor.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Nearer My God to Thee**

"What…was _that?_"

France ran up next to England and stopped short. He gasped.

England turned to him, wearing a soft smile.

"Iceberg," he murmured, and sure enough, there was a gigantic shelf of ice a few feet away. They were sailing away from it, but the damage had already been done.

"Call below deck to the boiler room," France ordered a sailor breathlessly. "See their status."

England remained frozen, staring silently after the iceberg.

"What good is an alert system if it can't do anything for this?" England whispered, bowing his head. "I was stupid…I should have looked and watched. It's all my fault it's happening all over again. At least we have more lifeboats…it's all my fault, all my fault, my bloody arrogance—"

"I don't want to hear you talk like that," France said briskly, gesturing to another sailor to release the lifeboats and round up the people. "We don't die as easily as humans, so the best thing we can do is at least help everyone to the boats."

England nodded slowly, and he watched as passengers of all classes started to stream in a panic onto the deck.

Italy sat up shakily.

"I think we hit something…"

Japan shook his head. "But what did we hit? And besides, isn't that a bit too ironic? The boat—"

The boat rocked again, and there was the sound of trickling water. He looked up and backed away in horror. A small stream of water was coming down the hallway floor.

"It's coming faster," Italy shrieked, and he jumped back. "This is much faster than the original sinking…. Oh my God, that means the boiler room is already—"

Japan bent down quickly and hesitated before taking hold of America's arms. He started to fruitlessly drag him up. Russia groaned and propped himself up on one arm blearily.

"What are you doing?" Prussia yelped. "Just leave him. The world is better off anyhow."

"He's not…completely…bad," huffed Japan, glaring, "I…am better….than you…"

Italy wavered a little with indecision, then stepped forward and helped haul him up. But the superpower was much too heavy, even with both of them combined.

Russia stood up, bones creaking. He pushed Japan aside contemptuously and took up America, picking him up like a child and slinging him over his shoulder. He nodded once at them, then left.

"Austria…" Hungary murmured, looking around. She poked Prussia, then turned to Japan.

"Austria is still in bed. I need to go get him, okay? Just…stay here…."

"Are you crazy?" Italy squeaked, shifting so his wet boots shrilled. But Hungary had already taken off.

"I'm coming back! Just hang tight!" she yelled, and then she was gone.

Japan looked after her incredulously, then sighed.

"Italy, let's go before the water comes…"

"I'm scaaaared…"

"Just stay with me, all right?"

There was a low rumble, and a tidal wave of water suddenly burst through the end door before they got to it. Japan and Italy were swept up in the blast.

Italy gasped and gulped in air as he came up from the water. It reached up to his chest, and Japan popped out next to him, breathless. Being shorter, he was trying to keep his head bobbing above the water.

"That's…a lot of water," he wheezed. His wet black hair stuck damply to his head as Italy hooked an arm underneath him to keep him up. "Hungary shouldn't have left. If the water is already this high, and Austria is below deck asleep as she said, then—"

Italy shuddered, turning pale. They wallowed as fast as they could through the water, and Japan noted its slow rising anxiously. They treaded along, and Japan gasped as his feet slipped and he was dunked underwater. Italy pulled him up hastily.

"Stairs," he muttered. "Sorry, I forgot to warn you…"

The water was now at Japan's neck and Italy's collarbone, and they paused in front of the door out. Italy tugged at the handle, and it refused to open. He jiggled it, looking back nervously at the rushing tide.

"Come on, come on, open up…"

"B-be careful when you open it, I think that there may be wa—"

He never got to finish his sentence when Italy pried it forcibly open and the wave that had been building up on the other side of the ship was released. They were both swept underwater, and Japan was knocked over with the impact. In a daze, he thrashed and flailed his arms, reaching up and clutching at the piping on the ceiling. Italy rose up with a splash and hit his head on the ceiling.

"I-I can't _swim!_" Japan shrieked in an unusually high voice, all calm abandoned. He spluttered as water entered his open mouth and fought to stay afloat.

"I know, I know, just hold on!" Italy yelled over the distant sound of people screaming. He took a deep breath and dove, and Japan squeezed his eyes shut and forced his pulse to stabilize. Italy came up next to him, auburn hair plastered down his neck.

He took hold of Japan's hands and prized them off the pipe until he was completely supporting his body. Japan kept his eyes shut, face screwed up in an unreadable expression that was somewhere between fear and nausea.

"Relax," Italy ordered, pulling him towards the door carefully. Japan nodded with his eyes still closed tightly and obeyed. They came to the stairs and hauled themselves up upon it. Japan stumbled a bit but caught himself, and together they reached the top door.

They arrived on the deck, and the ship was in chaos. People were running every which way, and some were crying. The ship creaked dangerously and rocked back and forth. An Italian ran past with her child, and Italy called after her.

"Excuse me, where are the lifeboats?" he asked. The woman pointed wildly to starboard and took off.

"There's more lifeboats than the accident before," Japan said, "We should be able to get onto one."

"If we hurry," Italy reminded him. "Everyone is in a panic, they may load them wrong or something."

He tripped as he spoke as the boat swayed a bit. His eyes went wide.

"Austria!"

The prim man was sitting in the middle of the confusion, calmly picking out notes on the piano. A band played along with him, and they recognized the tune.

_Nearer my God to thee…_

"Austria-san!" Japan yelled urgently. "What on earth are you doing? Get in a boat!"

Austria looked up through his glasses, royal purple eyes tranquil and unbothered by the disorder all around him.

"I am playing music for the people," he said simply as way of explanation.

"_Get in a boat! You'll die!_" Italy hollered. "Within a few hours the boat will sink too low for any one of us to stay!"

Austria shrugged and glided his fingers over the ivory keys.

"When it is my time, I shall leave. What way I depart is not up to me."

"But—"Japan began, but Italy put a hand on his shoulder.

"We need to get to the boats," he told him half-heartedly, "Just leave him, he…can deal with it…"


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Four: White Flag**

_I will go down with this ship_

_Won't put my hands up and surrender_

_There will be no white flag above my door…-White Flag,_ Dido

"Is everyone on the lifeboats?" England asked.

France wiped the sweat from his forehead as he helped a man onto a boat. "Still have around a few hundred left. The ship is tipping slightly, and I only hope we can get them on in time…"

England nodded slowly.

"There's only five more boats. Even after all this, we're still short on lifeboats," he whispered to France. France looked at him with a look akin to terror.

"You mean even though you brought extras? Didn't you bring enough for everyone?" he nearly yelled, and England flinched.

"I _did_ make enough boats! Some broke on the way to the ship assembly, some broke while we were sailing, and I didn't think we would need them anyway!" he yelled back. "Besides, if we're careful, everyone should fit!"

"Well, I won't tell you I told you so!" France growled, and he turned his attention back to the boats.

Prussia wandered the deck despite the slight tilt of the floor. He was searching for Austria with Hungary at his side, but the pianist was nowhere to be found.

He spotter Italy and Japan, both dripping wet, stumble onboard and begin to fight their way to the boats. Then, he spotted Austria in front of the cabin, hands dancing at the keys of the piano.

"Hey, Austria," he greeted him as though they were not in immediate danger, "Whatcha doin'?"

Austria barely looked up from his piano playing.

"I'm playing music with my people," he murmured, looking up at the Austrian band that was playing at their own instruments as people crowded into boats. It was a sharp, stark calm against the alarm and raw fear in the air. Hungary let out an impatient and scared sound.

"Austria, Austria, you need to get into a boat…please…"

"She may be right," Prussia mused, "Get in the boat. I doubt that no matter how awesome you are, no country could survive this."

"I decline," said Austria stiffly, and he bent his head down. Prussia sighed and came up next to him.

"Too bad, you've got no option," he declared, and he picked up Austria and slung him over his shoulder.

"I…I beg your pardon," Austria said weakly, too in shock to protest. "D-do let go of me…"

Prussia tossed him over the railing, and he fell headfirst into a descending lifeboat. He landed hard and sat up, glaring at Prussia.

The ship lurched again, and it moved ever more upward. Prussia and Hungary were thrown off balance, then they recovered and followed after Austria.

Italy wove his way through the diminishing crowd, trembling in his wet clothes. He made his way to France and tapped his shoulder. He turned, and Japan saw he looked very tired.

"Ah…get in the last boat then," he directed, gesturing to it, "And that will be everyone except me and Angleterre…"

Italy nodded and looked down at the boat. He took a deep breath and climbed down. It was crowded, but there was enough room. He motioned to Japan who was still up on the deck.

"Jump," he yelled. Japan shook his head.

"What if I hit the water—_Aagh!_"

France nudged him impatiently, and he fell. Italy caught him in his arms, and the lifeboat rocked.

"_God,_ you're so heavy, have I ever told you that…?" Italy groaned, propping Japan up. Japan glowered.

"Yes, you have. Twice. Now kindly be quiet."

"I think that's everyone," France panted. He straightened and looked back at an unusually silent England.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, holding onto the rail to balance himself on the tilted ship. "It's fine. Everyone is safe. Crowded, granted, but safe. The rescue ship will be here by morning if we just stay adrift."

"It's my fault," England said, removing his captain's hat. He kept his eyes trained on the floor. "Because of me, everyone could have died all over again. All because of my arrogance."

"Angleterre," France said, slightly disturbed by his strangely quiet tone, "Don't think about that. What matters is that it did not happen this time. You didn't fail."

England sighed and looked out over the sea, which was calm despite the sinking ship.

"Well, you should get on the boats," he said simply, turning away.

"So come on, then," said France, and he tugged on the sleeve of England's jacket. England didn't budge.

"I could have killed everyone…" he murmured again in that quiet voice, then, as if they were discussing the weather instead of struggling to stand on a tipping ship, "Oy, France. I've been dreaming lately, do you know that? It's made me rethink my life. It's made me think hard about who I am."

"That's nice," France answered distractedly, and he pulled urgently on his arm, "Now please, we need to leave—"

"I used to know who I was," continued England in almost a dreamlike voice, "But I was wrong. I'm so much more than the United Kingdom, than the British Empire."

"_Please,_" France nearly begged, looking down nervously at the lifeboat swaying, "We need to leave, right now!"

England turned towards him and gripped him by the shoulders. His green eyes had a look in them France had never seen before, as if he was already somewhere else.

"We may fight all the time," England said, "And it may look like we hate one another, and I myself believed it before this, but I now know. I don't hate you, and I enjoy fighting. I like all of you so much. It's all we have, each other. I grew up with you."

"England, I don't like how you're talking," France chuckled nervously. "Could we—"

"Everyone has their time, France," England said, "We all have our day, and it would take too long for me to explain, but I know somehow today is mine."

England suddenly pushed France over the rail, sending him over the edge. France tumbled down ten feet or so and smashed into the lifeboat. He sat up and grabbed the rope that held the boat up, planning to climb onto the deck.

"Arthur, Arthur, don't do this," he pleaded as England stepped to the fringe. He was close to tears.

"_Please…_"

England took out his ceremonial sword and swung it at the rope. The boat plunged into the sea.

England made his way back to the captain's cabin, ignoring the yelling and crying of the people on the boats below. France was screaming, but it seemed far away. He entered and closed the door, his boots sloshing.

Inside it was deathly quiet. Eerie silence.

England put a hand on the wall, feeling the cool plaster. He stroked the rail, and finally placed his hands on the big wooden wheel.

"I built this," he mumbled, rubbing it. "I put it together in the belief it was now truly impossible to sink."

He took off his hat and tossed it off to the side, shaking out his tangled blond hair. "I don't deserve to be captain…at least no one died…"

He gave a little smile.

"Funny, I thought I'd die fighting…like I did once before…I never thought I'd never be this calm either…"

He idly smoothed out his rumpled jacket.

"I regret so much. I am so afraid of what there is to come. But maybe I am happy as well. After all, I got to raise Alfred and live. Even though the life I know was full of pain and war, there was so much happiness….so much…"

He gripped the wheel harder as the ship lurched and sank deeper. Water began to rise rapidly, saturating the floorboards from under the door.

"Maybe I need to start thinking about me instead. As a person. As Arthur Kirkland. Is it time already? Well…" he mused to thin air.

A wall of water smashed over the stern, splashing over the deck. England let go of the wheel, spreading his arms wide. The tsunami careened toward the cabin.

"Take me."

The water shattered all the windows, rushing in with all the divine force of a tornado, and Arthur smiled.

_England 1066 A.D._

_Arthur crouched down in the grass, his sword in hand. His tunic was muddy and spotted with dirt, and he was tired and thirsty. Around him soldiers were also watching and waiting._

_He wanted to be home, home in his small house. But he knew that the preservation of the struggling country against the Normans was more important by far._

_He wouldn't let the Normans invade his homeland, pillage the villages, or sit on the throne. He absently fingered the crude metal handle and rust on his blade._

"_Normans!" someone yelled, and an arrow struck one of his comrades in the chest. He fell in a ruby rain._

_England smiled devilishly and stood up to fight, screaming a battle cry…_

_He choked on his own blood as the soldier rammed the flag into his body. It tore his insides and left him with a numb, blinding pain that nothing could describe. Blood spurted from his mouth and splashed on the thirsty grass._

"_It is unfortunate that thee hast lost," the Norman remarked. He swung himself upon his horse and rode away._

_The flag was sewn with two lions on a blood red background, his own bright life staining it dark. He gagged on the blood bubbling in his throat, sputtering gutturally._

_The Normans would pay for this. He would make sure of that…this was only a scratch, he tried to convince himself unsuccessfully._

_His country would be the most powerful in all the world someday, he promised himself. It would rise from this twice as strong and throw off the chains of the Norman conquerors. This would be the great feared British Empire….ruler of the entire world…the kingdom on which the sun would never set…. _

_His eyes rolled, and blood sprayed from his mouth as he hacked for breath. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt…_

_And then Arthur Kirkland died._


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Surrender**

The lifeboat bobbed in the sea, the waves less calm than they had been before. It rocked, making Japan nauseous. People stared at them, huddled together for warmth. Their eyes were hollow, and Japan hated the way everyone was looking at them, with a mixture of fear and wide-eyed trust.

Italy's teeth chattered, his skin pale. Japan took off his outer kimono and slung it around both of their shoulders.

"Th-thank you…" Italy sighed, and he snuggled close. Japan didn't say anything, only looked out over the water and leaned his head on his shoulder and closed his eyes.

"The b-boat's c-coming in t-twelve h-hours!" a sailor called from a boat in the distance. "J-just stick it o-out t-till then!"

They floated in silence, and a woman passed the drink she had in her bag to everyone. Japan grasped it with numb fingers and swallowed a few drops before passing it to Italy.

Minutes passed. The cold was digging into all of them. Japan doubted he had ever had any feeling in his feet. They were cold, cold and wet…

He looked down and saw the trickle of water coming from between the boards. It was small, but it was enough to make him jump.

"Wh-what's wrong…?" Italy mumbled sleepily. Japan pointed at the water.

"There's a l-leak!"

Italy sat up, makeshift blanket slipping. "It's s-small, w-we'll m-make it," he said, "J-just k-keep bailing th-the w-water…"

Japan nodded and sat back down. The now empty canteen was used for tossing the water out.

More time passed, and Japan was almost asleep when a small cracking sound alerted him. The space between the boards had widened, and all the people had pressed themselves against the opposite side of the boat.

The crack enlarged a few millimeters, and the woman frantically bailed. The boat wasn't made to withstand the Arctic temperature, Japan realized with horror. The very build of the wood couldn't take it…

"Italy," he said urgently, shaking him to wake him up, "I-Italy, Italy, the b-boat…"

The crack grew ever wider, nearly splitting along the grain of the boat. It gave a groan and ruptured, sending them all into the freezing water.

People screamed and yelled in terror, splashing all around. Japan was swept helplessly down by a small wave knocking him over. The water took him under, and he sank below. It was dark, he couldn't feel because of the cold, and his lungs burned. Someone grabbed his arms and hoisted him up, and he gasped and gulped in sweet oxygen.

Italy patted his back with an unsteady hand and kept him afloat, dragging him over to the hull of the lifeboat. People around them were grabbing onto other pieces in a panic, and some were wailing.

Italy lifted him onto the curved section, treading water carefully. Russia stood up in the lifeboat that drifted to the right and cupped his hands like a megaphone.

"Is everything all right? Everyone is accounted?" he yelled. There was a weak answer of agreement.

"All right, you'll have to deal with it for a while. Only one boat has paddles, and none of them has room. They're full and will sink if too many board. I apologize…we'll divide you evenly among us, but it will take a long while. Hold on for an hour or so."

Japan trembled and reached out to hold Italy's hand.

"Y-you t-take m-my p-place…"

"N-no," Italy whispered. He gave a small smile. "I c-can s-swim, you c-c-can't, r-remember?"

The wetness of their bodies caused their clothes to cling onto them, becoming stiff with the biting cold. A wind started up, making the problem worse.

"S-stay awake," Japan warned, rubbing Italy's numb hands. Italy nodded, eyes half-closed.

"J-just think a-about th-that villa," he stuttered, and Japan smiled weakly. He brushed the ice clinging onto Italy's light brown eyelashes. The people around them held onto the wreckage, and some were crying with cold.

"I-it's sunny th-there n-now," Japan said, his breath hanging in a mist. "B-bright…t-tomatoes are g-growing…r-ripe…"

"I c-can't remember wh-what s-sunny is…" Italy murmured. "I c-can't r-remember b-being w-warm….not ever…"

"Y-yes you d-do!" Japan said defiantly. He squeezed his hand harder, trying to restart the blood flow.

Italy shook his head the littlest bit, reaching up a shaking hand and brushing his cheek gently. He went lower and pulled out the little locket.

"Th-this doesn't m-matter, K-Kiku," he stammered, and Japan tucked it back into his shirt.

"Wh-what do you m-mean? I l-like it s-so much…"

"B-but it's n-not really m-me," said Italy. "I-I'm n-not in it. Y-you don't r-remember people in o-objects. It's…in…h-h-here…"

Hot angry tears started to make their way down Japan's cheeks.

"D-don't you dare say that! You're n-not g-going anywh-where..!" he nearly yelled.

He rubbed on his hands harder, futilely trying to keep in the heat. Italy sighed gently, shivering violently.

"S-stop it…" Italy mumbled under his chattering teeth. "Y-you'll only…t-tire y-yourself…"

"N-no, no, no…" Japan was sobbing genuinely now, and he didn't stop, massaging as fast as he could. "Y-you c-can't go…_l-leave m-me…_all a-alone…"

Italy grasped his wrists gently with surprising firmness, holding him in place.

"D-do you ever," he said quietly, "r-remember wh-what you t-told me once…?"

"A s-soldier," Japan replied, voice on breaking point, "n-never surrenders…"

"W-well," said Italy, "I w-want you to."

"I _w-won't!_" Japan cried. "Y-you can't g-go! The b-boat's c-coming…!"

"And you'll g-go on it," Italy responded. "L-let me go. I…kn-know somehow I'm not going to g-get through this. M-my dreams…"

Japan buried his face in Italy'sopping jacket, heaving as he cried. Everything was so wrong now…hadn't it been always that way? They had been doomed from the start. Even from their very birth as countries, they had fought as children learning to kill, to rule, to dominate. They had died and risen up again and kept on going, put up facades of an ordinary life. But the pathetic attempts they made always collapsed on themselves. All they were was a mockery of a mortal life. What were they doing on this earth anyway? Couldn't people function without them?

"C-can I h-have the s-sketch?" Italy asked quietly, and Japan pulled away. He nodded tremulously and took it out from his wet pocket.

It was soaked and limp, but the sketch was still miraculously clear. It was damaged beyond repair.

"Wh-what for?" Japan asked, placing it in his hands. Italy gave a little smile, a shadow of his former grin.

"I w-want," he answered, holding it up carefully, his elbows on the hull, "To look a-at it wh-while I-I'm waiting f-for you."

He looked up at Japan, still smiling.

"I kn-know we'll m-meet someday," he whispered. "L-live a g-good l-life and then c-come f-find me, Kiku."

He closed his eyes, breathing irregular. He seemed to fall asleep, and Japan shook him.

"W-wake up…!"

There was no answer for many agonizing minutes, and Italy's breathing slowed then ceased, pink ice lips coated with frost. Japan screamed, the sound torn from his throat, shaking him harder.

"_C-come back, come back, come back, I n-need you, c-come b-b-b-ack!_.."

He sobbed brokenly, clinging onto his icy hands that didn't move. This was the rules of the game of the sham of the life the countries lived.

Everything you loved would be taken from you someday.

Russia watched as the paddles were passed around slowly. It was a difficult and long process, and some of the lifeboats were far away and couldn't reach. It took long, vital minutes or them to make their way close enough to grasp the paddles.

The sound of a despairing scream made its way over the water, and Russia was suddenly alert. In the distance, on top of a section of hull from the shattered lifeboat, Japan was screaming over and over again. He squinted and saw the faint outline of Italy's head.

He shrugged off his heavy jacket and threw it at a groggy America, stepping to the edge. Before anyone could shout a protest, Russia had taken the plunge.

The biting cold of the sea numbed his bones as he swam, but he shoved the feeling away with gritted teeth. Russia came to Japan's side, and the smaller nation looked up at him wildly, tears streaming.

"_W-wake him u-up,_" he stuttered, and the look of suddenly placid, desperate hope on his face was wretched. Russia didn't answer, only pried his arms off the dead body, and Japan started to kick and scream.

"No, n-no, _no!_" he moaned, struggling. His fingers slid from Italy's as Russia pulled. "I….I'm n-not letting g-go…! L-leave m-me! _He n-needs m-m-me!"_

Russia ignored him and pulled him onto the lifeboat, and Japan cried as Italy remained bobbing for a moment before sinking below the waves.

Everyone stared at Japan as he collapsed onto Russia, weakly pummelling him with his tiny fists before giving up completely. He sobbed against his wet scarf, knuckles white as they gripped his shirt front.

Russia picked him up, holding him against his chest and rocking him gently as he hiccupped and cried.

"Hush," Russia murmured, voice unusually dreamy and soft. "It happens….it happened to me once before…_shhh…"_

He still did not care much for Japan, but he was not completely heartless. He also suspected that some sort of vengeance would be in order in Japan's samurai mind, and he was interested in what that would be like.

America watched, a strange pain in his chest throbbing. He reached out tentatively and touched Japan's shoulder, and he turned with teary eyes to look at him directly.

"I'm….sorry," he said simply, avoiding his eyes.

Japan stared at him for a long time, and something broke inside him as a feral rage swirled inside him. He reached into his shirt and pulled out his locket, letting it fall outside his clothing so it showed.

He sat up and wiped his eyes, struggling to control his breathing.

He was a country. What mattered most was not their own lives, but the welfare of their people and land. They needed to put their prosperity above all else.

The rules were ordained so.

Japan let a smile come over his face, and he took America's hand and shook it.

"Thank you," he said smoothly, the years of control he had spent honing coming into play. A look of relief paired with utter confusion washed over America's face.

"It'll be okay," he said. "I'll make it all okay. I won't mess up anymore. You don't need to come to my country anymore, I'll deal with my boss' wrath—"

"No," Japan interjected, and America looked at him in surprise. "I'd actually like that. Very much."

While America stuttered and stumbled around for an answer to the unexpected statement, Japan grinned at Russia. He stretched out his hand and barely touched Russia's hand, and quickly pulled away.

Russia looked down surreptiously at the tiny waterproof case, opening it and removing the small piece of paper. Most of them had such boxes on hand to preserve important documents or weapons just in case. He raised an eyebrow at the alliance terms and looked over at Japan, who simply let his smile grow wider, turning back to America.

Russia considered it for a moment, then he folded the paper and placed it in his pocket. Working with Japan against America. It was a heavy deal. It would break many rules. But the rewards would be great. He nodded a _yes_ in Japan's direction, and the nation dipped his head in affirmation.

America had killed Italy, he thought, looking back at the sea. He had killed off both of their chances for an actual life. They had actually found someone who understood them like no one else did. They understood each other as humans, not as countries negotiating alliances and terms.

So far, none of them had ever broken the unspoken rules of being a country personification.

Japan was looking forward to breaking all of them.


	25. Act II: Chapter 25

_**Act II**_

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Advantage**

The Statue of Liberty came into view, and people cheered. America leaned over the rail and breathed in the smell of the city, _his_ city. Japan was silent beside him.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" America said. He looked at Japan hopefully, trying to get him to respond. The entire trip he had remained in their room and hadn't really spoken. But America could hear his soft crying late at night when he thought no one was around.

Japan craned his head and took the giant statue in. He considered finding a way to detonate it, but dismissed the idea promptly.

It wasn't the statue's fault it had an idiot for a personification.

"It's nice," he said emotionlessly.

America patted his back, nearly knocking him over.

"Can I coax a smile out of you? Hmm?" he asked, trying to sound cheerful. "You know I don't like seeing you sad."

Japan stared at him, dark eyes without a trace of light in them. America shuddered involuntarily at the look.

"America-teme," he said, "England and Italy just died. What reason do I have to smile?"

America's expression faltered at the mention of England, and he pulled away his hand like he had been smacked. His bottom lip trembled, and his voice sounded wan and strained.

"Y-yeah…Iggy….he's gone…"

There was nothing but quiet between them for the rest of the ride.

The facility building was outside the city. Barbed wire and soldiers in watchtowers guarded the border, and the white building was tall and imposing. America strolled in, fearless. They both passed through security and came to thick glass doors.

America held it open for Japan, and Japan stared at him with his blank eyes for a long minute. Finally, he walked stiffly through.

"Arigatou, America-teme."

"You're welcome…" America said, then his nose wrinkled in puzzlement. "By the way, what's 'teme' mean?"

"Figure it out," Japan snapped, and America shut up.

Japan observed everything as he entered, from the walls and guards to the small shelf in the middle of the room. A powerful looking man in a suit nodded at America and stepped aside.

"This is Dr. Houston," America introduced. "He helped create this."

Dr. Houston was tall and overweight, with thinning white hair. He had a large nose that reminded Japan distinctly of Russia, and an air of arrogance about him.

Japan decided he didn't like him.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Japan," the man greeted, sticking out his hand in offering. Japan looked at it haughtily, and the man pulled it back after a full minute. When he spoke next, his tone was subdued a bit, but still insufferably fakely happy. It was a pathetic attempt at conversation.

"What's this here?" the man said, bending down at Japan's eye level. He fingered the small locket, and Japan disliked his grubby fingers on it. He abruptly pulled it out of his hand.

"It's mine. It was a gift," he said, and he tucked it back into his shirt. America laughed nervously.

"From who?" the man pressed, still futilely trying to estabilish some sort of friendliness.

"Italy," Japan retorted sharply, and the man raised an eyebrow. "And I am not a child, Houston-kisama."

Dr. Houston stood up, eyeing him witheringly. He nodded to America again, muttering into his ear on the way out,

"What do 'teme' and 'kisama' mean?"

"I don't know," America sighed. "He just began using it."

As soon as he was gone, America turned to Japan wearing a serious face.

"Kiku, I didn't hang around you during your release from isolation for nothing," he said, crossing his arms. "And I still don't know what 'kisama' means, but don't use it towards a government official. You'll get in trouble."

Japan shrugged lethargically, and America sighed in frustration. He motioned to the door.

"I want you to meet someone. I think you've met before…behave yourself."

The door swung open, and Japan watched as a large man entered. He was even taller than Russia, if that was humanly possible. He was broad and strong, and had straight blond hair. Curiously, he was in a naval uniform. Japan frowned. The eyebrows were slightly thicker than average, and reminded him strongly of England. The man grinned and took a seat on the chair, and it creaked under his muscled weight.

"Familiar?" he questioned, and sure enough, there was a strong British accent.

"Sealand?" Japan asked hesitantly, and the man burst into booming laughter.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Natiomortinium**

"Yes, it's me," Sealand responded to the shocked look on Japan's face. He stretched his arms, tossing his head arrogantly. "I grew quite a bit as you can see. America is helping me build onto my country, and soon I'll be the world's first completely man-made country. I'm also considering taking over England when I'm strong enough."

"No, you won't," America snapped a little sharply. "Leave it to recover in peace."

Sealand got up, circling around Japan. His boyish smile did not decrease, and Japan felt uneasy at the other nation's strength and height. He had thought Russia was large…

Sealand slapped him on the back, knocking him over, and then gathered him into a big hug. Japan was crushed against the hulky country's broad chest, and he tried unsuccessfully to wiggle free.

"Isn't this cool?" Sealand exclaimed, oblivious to his too-strong grip. "I finally grew up! I'm finally going to be recognized! And you were the first to approach me, at that G8 meeting so long ago! Aren't you excited?"

"Y-yes," Japan lied, and Sealand lowered him carefully to the floor.

"The weapon I'm about to show you had a lot to do with Sealand," said America. He walked to the box in the middle of the room and carefully removed the top. Inside was a strange grey powder.

"What is that?" Japan asked, interest piqued. America smiled and motioned for a few guards to come forward and take it. One of them pressed a button, and thick glass slid down and blocked half of the room. Japan observed as one of them took out a small ball from the box. He held it up to show America and Japan, then threw it down on the floor.

"That," said America with a trace of satisfaction, "Is a new element we found underneath Sealand. It only is found there. We came across it by complete accident. We ran some tests and found this substance neutralizes odors, and we tried combining it with some chemicals as an experiment. Sealand was present for the testing, and he strayed too close. It unexpectedly detonated, and everyone took cover. Sealand was nearly killed, but everyone else was completely intact. He survived and is doing well, thanks to American support—"

"Get to the point, America-teme," Japan said, crossing his arms. "I know you are dying to."

America nodded, licking his lips.

"In short, it is capable of killing countries," he said. "Somehow it leaves humans and buildings intact. The researchers surmise the reason Sealand survived is because he is not a full country."

"I see," Japan mused, and he was rapt with attention. "That could be a powerful weapon, a very powerful weapon indeed."

They left soon afterward, America chattering on about a restaurant he wanted to take him to. Sealand interjected often, and Japan remained conservatively silent.

"It will be so amazing when you help me finish this!" America said excitedly, and Japan arched an eyebrow. "We'll be a force to reckon with, and world peace will finally be a reality!"

"Will it?" Japan murmured to himself as America beamed, completely oblivious to the crackle of animosity in the air.

"Yes, it will. We may have to fuse within a few years in order to help maintain control," he continued. "Would you be interested in that?"

"No. Not ever."

"All right, 'cause, frankly, I wouldn't either. My boss tried to explain it to me once, but it sounds messy and painful. Something about where I have to kill you slowly and absorb your essence. I mean, like _eww._ How do you suck out essence anyhow? So anyway—"

Japan ignored him, thinking as he walked along. The building was extremely secure…

He recalled all that he had seen and began formulating plans for his grand entrance.

_U.S. Weapons Testing Facility_

_2:03 PM_

It was a pitch-black night. The building was lit up inside, and he could see guards with prominent guns patrolling the perimeter.

Japan was crouched down, his black clothing reflecting none of the moonlight that streamed down. He pulled the collar up over his face.

"Russia-san," he murmured into his sleeve, and Russia dropped into position next to him. The movement was graceful and fluid. He acknowledged Japan with a small smile.

"Putting it all aside for some revenge, hrm?" he whispered, and Japan's face hardened.

"There's more than that in this."

"I see…" Russia mused, and he suddenly snaked forward and grabbed him, turning him upside down ad shaking him. Japan kicked and wiggled.

"What…_let me go_ _this instant!_"

"_Fufufu…_I only want to see something…"

Japan's belongings tumbled out of his pockets, and Russia put the bedraggled man down.

"Let's see…your address book, your wallet, and a little necklace," Russia said, handling the locket delicately. "A pretty thing. Now, your address book and wallet—"

"What's the point of this?" Japan nearly shrieked. "Leave my things alone!"

Russia took off his scarf and wrapped it around Japan's head.  
>"…Hush."<p>

He flipped through the wallet, one eyebrow quirking. "Out of a hundred tiny little photos in here, seventy-five have Italy in them. And your address book….the top numbers are Italy's two phone numbers, and the third is Italy's favorite restaurant…your boss' number is last."

Japan struggled, nearly crying. He punched Russia, who barely flinched. He tossed the items back at him contemptuously, and Japan snatched them back.

"I was only curious," Russia explained. Japan barely looked up as he slipped the necklace over his head and let it hang over his chest.

"For what? Tell me."

"I wanted to confirm your real motive," said Russia, smile growing wider. "Your motive isn't to take over the world. It's to avenge everything that's ever been taken from you, isn't it? Especially Italy."

"It's not your business," Japan snapped.

"I wonder, do you still have it in you? To become once again, that terrifying force of Asia? To be the cold, dark, soulless fighter of your samurai days?"

Japan didn't answer. He began to walk towards the fence.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Strike One**

The soldiers patrolled their rounds, completely unsuspecting. One of them looked up curiously as a small rustling sound came from around the corner and went to investigate.

There was only a small patch of moonlight, and a small figure in all black was visible to the guard's trained eyes. He raised his gun.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "Speak! You have trespassed on federal property and I will not hesitate to shoot—"

He gave a sharp gasp as the person looked up, locking him in place with eyes that reflected none of the dim light. The stranger smiled, and it was beautifully vicious. There was something not quite right about his entire appearance, and the only word for it was strangely beautiful. His voice was accented, but not badly so. He seemed a thousand years old despite his youthful appearance.

"Go right ahead and shoot," he said, lifting his jaw. The guard's hand trembled on his weapon, a feeling of uneasiness coursing through his body.

"Wh-who are you?" he stuttered. "_Wh-what _are you?"

The man craned his head in idle curiosity as something metal bashed the soldier's skull in.

Japan tapped his fingers on his arm as Russia wiped the water pipe on his jacket front.

"Still with that primitive weapon of yours?" he questioned quietly. Russia shrugged.

"It gets the job done."

Shouts were gathering in the near distance, and Japan sighed.

"It looks like we've attracted some friends."

Soldiers rounded the corner, and they opened fire. Japan walked through the bullets, and each one seemed to vanish as soon as it struck his skin. The soldiers were shaken, but they were trained well. They stood their ground.

"You bore me," Japan commented, and the ground ruptured underneath their boots, and all of the men were engulfed in flames.

Men screamed as the fire penetrated their uniforms, and Russia and Japan passed through without a hitch into the building.

"Are you all right?" Russia asked, and Japan flicked a piece of charred uniform from his shoulder.

"I am fine. Guns and such do not affect us. They would have to get physical if they wished to even have a chance of inflicting enough damage to kill," he said, and Russia nodded. "There was a bomb planted under the concrete. I placed it there at an earlier time…."

He turned as a jangle sounded, and saw Russia take out a long chain and a rag. Russia smirked and walked towards him.

"Why don't we just get down to it…"

America was awoken roughly by a government official shaking him.

"What's wrong?" he asked sleepily.

"They broke into the facility!"

America bolted up, grabbing his glasses.

"Who? Who broke into it?"

The man guided him to the security room. Every single one of the screens was dark. America had only set foot in the room with the security guards when a voice came through the intercom.

"Hello, America."

"Who are you?" America demanded, looking around. "Show yourself!"

There was a light titter on the opposite end, crackling the static.

"I have hacked into your security cameras and sound system remotely. Do not worry. When I am finished, I will restore power."

"Have I met you before?" America asked, ignoring the way the human security guards cowered behind him.

"_Da,_ I'd say you have."

There was a moment of silence, and America cursed loudly.

"Russia! Dang it, I knew you'd try something like this someday!"

"Oooh, you got me," Russia said in a sing-song voice. "And guess what else I got?"

America could discern the sound of a soft whimper in the background. Russia giggled.

"That better not be what I think it is…"

The cameras clicked on abruptly, and a slightly grainy image of Russia came in. He smiled and waved.

"Why, hello. And yes, it is."

The camera changed quality, becoming sharper as Russia tinkered with it.

"Better," he said, then tapped the glass. He reached down and pulled up Japan by the scruff of his neck. America sucked his breath.

Japan was blindfolded, his kimono torn and hanging off one shoulder. He looked scuffed and beaten, and blood trickled from his slightly parted lips. He groaned as Russia grabbed his hair and pulled him up harder.

"Kiku!" America cried out. He leaned towards the screen as if he could pull him through it. Russia yanked off the blindfold and jerked him back by a large hand on his jaw.

"Say helloooo to Amerika…"

Tears streamed down his pale cheeks, mixing with the blood. He trembled and struggled in his chains.

"A-America…don't come, it's a trap—"

He yelped as Russia slapped him across the face hard enough to force him to the floor. America gritted his teeth at the low moan of pain Japan emitted.

"Let him go," he ordered, and Russia shook his head.

"I will let him go only if you come here and unlock the natiomortinium. Hand it over to me, and little fragile Kiku here—" he kicked Japan, who cried out, "—will go free. Keep in mind I may grow bored of waiting in a few minutes and kill him. Dainty butterflies don't do well in winter…._fufufufu…_"

"You better mean it about releasing him," America yelled at the screen. "You just hold on, Kiku! I'm coming, and I'll save you!"

"This isn't safe—" the government official began, but Amerca whirled on him.

"Shut up! My best friend is being held by that commie monster, and the United States of America will step in to defend their ally!" he shouted, and before they get in another word, the superpower had bounded out of the room.

The screens shut off, and Japan sighed. Russia laughed.

"Fragile?" he questioned, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs were chafing them. Russia grinned.

"I had to press on the whole 'I'm helpless, save me' thing," he said. "I did not hurt you too badly, did I?"

"No," lied Japan, and he winced slightly at the pain in his ribs where Russia had kicked him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you enjoyed it all too much."

" 'I cannot tell a lie,' " Russia quoted. Japan licked the blood from his lips.

"And what was with the whole butterfly routine?"

"I felt poetic," Russia explained. "And it sounded so appropriately dramatic to interject to add to Amerika's idealistic 'villian' image."

Japan nodded, leaning back. The chains jingled.

"He'll be here soon," Japan said. "_To be the hero_."

America leapt through the door, barely out of breath. He looked around wildly, trying to stay calm.

"Kiku?" he called, and there was a faint whine coming from the room to his left. He entered cautiously, keeping his eyes open for any sign of Russia. He cocked his gun, eyes sweeping across the mostly empty room before coming to rest on a small form in the corner.

"Kiku!" he exclaimed, dashing forward. Japan flinched as he came near, and whimpered in fear. America bent down next to him, removing the rope gag and blindfold. Japan stared back at him, eyes wide and frightened. His bottom lip trembled.

America snapped the chains like paper and pulled Japan into his arms as the nation began to cry in relief.

"It's okay, Kiku, I've got you…don't worry…God, what did he do to you…? How hurt are you? Show me…"

Japan's arms wrapped aound his neck tightly as he sobbed loudly, and America patted him.

"A-America…thank you so much for coming…"

"I had to."

"Y-you're my hero…"

America flushed. "N-no. I was just doing my American duty. We always help our allies. It's no problem. Now, let's go back before Russia catches us—"

He got up, and Japan's knees buckled in a dead faint. America dove to catch him, and Japan kicked him in the face as he fell into a backwards flip.

America crumpled, dazed at the sudden blow. Japan wiped his face on his sleeve and shrugged off the kimono. His black clothes were on underneath. He started walking towards America.

"_You're my hero,_" he mimicked in a sickly imitation, nearly sneering. "Honestly, how stupid can you be?"

America had no time to react as Japan whipped out a pistol and fired, hitting his shoulder. He screamed in pain, biting his lip to keep conscious.

"I-I don't understand," he groaned. Japan sighed as if he was addressing a child.

"You wouldn't, would you? _I_ did this. _I am_ doing this. You did many things to me, and I think it's time for the great America to finally fall."

"B-but your boss won't stand for this," America stammered. "We're on g-good terms…"

"You used to be," Japan corrected him. "But I killed him myself two days ago. Shot him in the face."

America was speechless, and he finally succumbed to unconsciousness. Russia stepped out of the shadows.

"Is he dead?" he questioned. Japan lifted America's hand with an effort and pressed it against the security door.

"Unfortunately not. It takes so much more than that. Let's leave him to suffer a few more years to witness us destroying his world."

With that, the two allies entered the room together.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Forming an Alliance**

It was beautiful to Japan's eyes. The powder glittered faintly as he lifted the box carefully, wearing white gloves.

"This should last us a while," he told Russia, dropping the box in his hands, "We will have to be careful, that's all."

Russia nodded before tucking it into his pocket. He looked at his watch.

"We should leave, it's getting later…"

Japan was about to reply when something very much like a brick wall smashed into him, and he went flying.

He hit the wall with surprising force, dazed. He slid down and was slammed upwards by large hands that clenched into his shoulders.

Blue eyes glared into his own, full of burning anger.

"S-Sealand…" Japan groaned, and the man squeezed him harder.

Russia came forward, swinging his pipe, and Sealand turned and punched him solidly in the gut, still holding Japan in place. He was even larger than Russia, and Japan could see the slightly disturbed look in his violet eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" Sealand yelled, and Russia let out a startled sound and stepped back to narrowly avoid Sealand's fist.

"It's vengeance," Russia said simply, twirling his weapon expertly. "To make up for everything, and gain the world in the process."

"Well, it's ruining my chance to ever become a true country!" Sealand shouted, the blow from his hand bending the lead pipe. Russia stared in horror at the damaged pipe, then shrugged and came forward.

Sealand kicked him across the room, and Russia slid down the wall and didn't move. He moaned through gritted teeth at the pain, struggling to focus.

Sealand shook Japan like a doll, hands encircling his entire waist. Japan struggled, gasping for breath as the enraged man continued to pound him into the wall.

"_I will be the most powerful country in the whole world!_" Sealand screeched, and his hands came to wrap around his throat. "_You can't stop me!"_

Japan screamed when Sealand grabbed his wrist and twisted violently, snapping the delicate bones. Sealand pinned him against the floor.

He gagged helplessly, his windpipe being slowly crushed. Sealand whirled on Russia.

"Throw the box back to me, or he dies!"

Russia seemed to contemplate for a long moment, then he reached into his jacket and tossed it to Sealand. The demented man shoved it into his own pocket.

"…Good."

He pushed Japan up into a sitting position, fingers still digging into white flesh.

"You're going to die," he hissed in Japan's ear, and the man shuddered, "You're going to die because no one messes with Sealand. I am going to swallow up everything in my way, and I think both your countries would do nicely as a starter…I can't have you around to hurt my chances of becoming a country, finally…"

"You lied," Russia said. Sealand did not turn.

"Yes. Yes I did. You will both die, and I will take your lands and people," Sealand answered, patting his pocket where the natiomortinium was. "I have been waiting so long for my chance, and once it finally came, you nations step in. I will not stand for it."

He dug his nails into Japan's shoulders, making him bite his lip and cry out.

"Should I break your neck?" Sealand mused, sliding his hand up so it rested on the back of his head. "That would be merciful, wouldn't it? You were the only one to acknowledge me that one time at the world meeting. But maybe that doesn't matter anymore…how about something else?"

Russia was crawling to his twisted pipe, edging ahead on his elbows.

"You are insane for power," Japan gasped. Sealand reached into his pocket and pulled out a small blade.

"Is that so?" he said pleasantly, placing it to Japan's collar. "Either way, you just may have to deal with it. I think I want to perform a fusion. I'll be ever more powerful that way, won't I? And you will die slowly, over time. That would be nice…Russia would join you of course…"

He swiped the knife down over his collarbone, slicing into the white skin. The cut was not deep, but it stung. Japan screamed again, sharp pain shooting down his chest. Blood dribbled as Sealand continued to cut downwards.

"I have to take you apart piece by piece," he whispered in his ear. Japan whimpered and jerked, convulsing as far away as he could from the blade.

"It's too bad we die so slowly," Sealand reflected, turning the knife so it grazed his side. "I mean, this will take many years to complete. You'll be begging for a mortal's death before the end—"

A mangled piece of metal hit him over his head with all the power of the Soviet Empire, and Sealand slumped forward. Russia lowered the pipe, running his hand along it. He cracked it back into shape with an effort.

He reached out a hand to Japan, who took it and stood shakily. Blood was seeping from the corners of his jacket, and it hurt badly, but he knew he would live.

Sealand groaned and started to get up, but Japan cocked his pistol against his forehead.

"Remain where you are," he warned. "A country made of steel or not, a bullet wil hurt."

Sealand froze, then he pouted. The expression was strange on what looked like a grown man.

"It's not fair," he said, "You will take away the weapon and I will be useless. I will never be a country. I'll be stuck at the same level as a simple prefecture or capital."

"Perhaps it is best," Russia pointed out. "Being a full country is a terrible thing. Not to mention your attitude would get you killed quickly."

Sealand shook his head.

"I will rule everything someday, just you wait!"

The threat sounded empty and weak. Japan thought for a long minute, then lowered the gun. Sealand looked up in surprise.

"Sealand," he said formally, "You want the same thing we do. Recognition and the world. Do you know America will not make you a country? He only does that to get what he wants. It would take too much energy and money to convince others you were a true country."

He reached out his hand, lowering the gun all the way.

"Another way to become a country is to prove it by war. Will you join us? We can use you."

He recognized that Sealand was not mentally whole and prone to violence, but he was a prudent man. Having him on their side after seeing what he was capable of would definitely be an asset.

Sealand hesitated, then took it. He shook his hand, and Japan snatched it back, holding his broken wrist.

"I'm sorry," Sealand said quietly. "About that. I got…caught up."

Japan personally thought Sealand was messed up in the head and retrogressive, but he said nothing and only nodded, wincing.

Russia slid off his scarf and wrapped it around Japan's middle. Blood soaked through, staining the fabric.

"Russia-san," Japan said in astonishment, looking up. "This was a gift from your older sister. It is important to you."

Russia shrugged.

"Nothing like that matters to me anymore."


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Thirty: Kotatsu**

They arrived at Japan's house a few minutes after ten at night. It was cold and bitter, and the breeze bit at their shoes.

Japan himself slid open the door for them, and he graciously invited them in from the cold. He led them to the center room, sliding open the screens to let them in. Inside, Russia was already seated at the table, calmly sipping a small cup of fragrant tea.

"Canada-san, Prussia-kun," Japan said, giving a little bow. "Please make yourselves at home."

Prussia and Canada sat down at the heated kotatsu. Canada nervously squeaked as Sealand grinned at him, and Prussia laid back carelessly.

"Tea?" Japan offered. Canada nodded and accepted.

"Naw, I don't need tea," Prussia dismissed him with a wave. "But if you have soda or something, that would be nice. Come to think of it, how 'bout dinner? I vote pancakes—"

"No," said Japan firmly. He put down the teapot on the table and folded his hands in front of him.

"We're here to discuss business, Prussia-kun. Tell me about what role you hope to play in this coming war."

Prussia shrugged and leaned back further. He held out his hands for warmth above the table.

"I was hoping to fight and win."

"But why? You have no resources," Russia pointed out. "I'd say you'd be pretty useless."

Prussia smiled.

"That's exactly it," he said, "I have no boss or land to hold me down. I'm free. Plus, wouldn't it be just awesome to have the ex-nation of Prussia rise up again? I used to be so feared across all of Europe. Why not the world?"

Japan considered it for a long moment, then nodded.

"You want the same thing we want," he said. "Therefore, you are in."

"Awesome."

"He's still useless," Russia remarked, holding out his cup. Japan poured more tea in it. "Still very, very useless. And annoying…"

"Shut up," Prussia muttered. "I was more awesome than you ever were. And I'm your elder, so shut it."

"I am so very frightened," Russia replied without a pause. Japan ignored them both and turned.

"Canada-san, you have not spoken of your motives."

Canada jumped, unused to being addressed so directly.

"U-um," he stammered, putting a hand behind his head and flushing, "I-I'm tired of being overshadowed. I-I don't think I c-can fight though, my boss won't allow it—"

"Forget about him," Japan said dismissively. "He does not matter anymore. Nothing in your country does."

Canada was taken aback. "B-but…my people…"

"They don't matter anymore. I shot my boss not long ago. Are you in or not?"

Canada looked down at his boots and fidgeted. He gave a small nod, small tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

"My people…didn't do anything to me…"

"Wrong," Japan answered, narrowing his eyes, "They did _everything._"

Canada's lip trembled as he thought of the consequences of the largest war in human history. People would be dragged into something that didn't even concern them, something that was only between their countries. It was confusing.

"B-but…they're like my _children…_"

Japan didn't even look up. He put down his cup.

"Then sacrifice them. If the thought bothers you, you are always free to leave this room. Just know that as soon you step out, you are our enemy. I will not hesitate to draw my sword or allow Russia to come after you. But as I said, it is your decision alone."

Canada's eyes were wide, and he strongly reminded Japan of a frightened America.

He liked it. Japan drummed his fingers on the table, waiting for a reply as Canada whimpered and shook.

"…Who knows, you might get away. Who can say?"

Canada took a deep breath and extended his hand. Japan accepted it graciously, bowing his head.

"A wise decision. You are ever so much more intelligent than your brother."

"Th-thank you…"

Prussia slapped him on the back merrily. "Welcome to the Alliance!"

Canada smiled nervously back, wondering what he had gotten himself into.

Everyone was asleep, blankets pulled up around their heads. Their bodies were snuggled under and around the kotatsu table for warmth. Sealand snored, taking up most of the space underneath. Canada was curled up in a ball next to Prussia, who was drooling unattractively and mumbling on about frying pans and pancakes.

Russia was awake. He was sitting off to the side, staring out into the darkness of the kitchen. He got up and opened the sliding screen and stepped onto the porch.

Japan was sitting on the edge farthest from the house. His feet barely brushed the grass, and the night breeze was cool. The branches of the cherry tree swayed gently, pink buds bobbing.

"What are you doing out here?" Russia asked, closing the door. Japan turned, startled slightly. He had been so lost in thought he hadn't heard the man come out. Hastily, he tucked something into his shirt.

"…I was thinking."

Russia sat down, keeping his distance. He did not wish to be kicked today.

"Are you sure you weren't crying?"

An imperceptible expression flickered across his face.

"No."

Russia giggled his disturbing laugh.

"I could hear you from inside. Try being quieter next time."

Japan looked down at his toes and didn't answer. He wiped his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. I was not crying," he said evenly, sitting up straighter. He struggled to keep his voice steady, but it cracked anyway. "I was only thinking of our first move in this war. We have to be careful."

Russia leaned forward.

"Are you sure you weren't crying for Italy?"

Japan gave a small choked sound and broke down, small hands coming up to cover his face. His knees went up as he curled into himself, sobbing.

"_Why do you do this to me?_" Japan cried, voice muffled in his kimono. His fingers were wrapped around his necklace so tightly it was leaving marks. "_Why do you do it?_ You do it on purpose…you hurt me…"

"Yes," said Russia. "I hurt you."

"B-but…why?"

"You do it to me too. And we've been at odds for a long time. We just do it. Except I _like_ doing it to others more than you."

Japan cried harder, back shaking. Russia watched him for a while longer, then came forward and sat down next to him.

He placed two fingers under Japan's chin and tilted his face upwards. Japan's eyes were streaming tears, his face was flushed, and his bottom lip was quivering. He tried unsuccessfully to push him away, but Russia held him in place, giving a chilling little smile.

"I like people's expressions, bear with me. They're interesting to me. Not as interesting as dying faces, mind you. Your dying face will interest me someday very much."

"Y-you're _sick_," Japan sniffled, avoiding his eyes. "S-sick…in the head…"

"Maybe I am. But have you ever thought…" Russia forced him to remain sitting up as he threatened to collapse under another wave of tears, "That I am a monster, or sick, or whatever you want to call it, no less than you yourself are already?"

Japan looked at him with wide eyes, the words digging into him. He kicked out suddenly, trying to break free.

"You're a _liar!_ Go away!"

Russia smirked, enjoying the mixture of despair and sadness coming across Japan's face. He leered for a moment more, watching his face contort as he cried.

Russia patted him on the back, getting up with Japan in his arms. Japan hiccupped and kicked weakly, exhausted.

"I _h-hate_ you," he groaned when Russia dumped him near the kotatsu. Russia grinned like a Chesire cat as he laid down and pulled up a blanket.

"I hate you more."

Japan grabbed a blanket and turned his back to Russia, still sniffling. He kept a tight hold on his locket and squeezed his eyes shut.

"No. I hate you more," he muttered under the covers.

Russia's sing-song voice floated over to him.

"Nooo…I hate you moooore…"

"No."

"Yes."

"_No._ I do."

"Yes."

"I hate you so much I'd tear you to pieces if I didn't need you now," Japan hissed, the anger making his fists clench.

Russia giggled again.

"I hate you so much I probably will tear you to pieces eventually during this."

"Not if I do it first."

Russia snickered ominously, and Japan ignored him, closing his eyes. There was a blissful silence for a minute.

"So we agree," Russia's high voice whispered in his ear, tickling the hair there, "That I hate you more?"

"_God_, just go away!" Japan yelled, using his pillow to hit the man over the head. "This is so childish! Go to sleep and leave me alone this instant!"

Russia ducked, grabbing his own pillow and hitting Japan square in the chest, causing him to let out a surprised _oof_ and fall over. Canada opened one bleary eye.

"What are you guys doing?" he asked sleepily, rolling to his stomach. Japan swore in an undignified manner as the pillow hit his head again. His own pillow whacked Russia solidly on his side.

Prussia yawned, sitting up. He rubbed his eyes, then they went wide.

"Whoa! It's _a pillow fight!_" he cheered, taking his pillow and smashing it into Canada's back with enough force to send him tumbling. Soon everyone was awake, including Sealand, and a full-on pillow fight was in order.

Half an hour later, they were all lying in various positions on the floor, surrounded by feathers. Japan gasped and panted, out of breath and sweaty. He felt too heavy to get up. Sealand was snoring soundly next to him.

"I…I…" he gasped, trying to get out the words. Russia smiled breathlessly, beige hair mussed and soaked.

"Yes? Say it."

"I…h-hate you…"

"But are you still crying?"

Japan looked over at him, and Russia simply smirked and turned over to go to sleep.


	30. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty-One: Romano**

"I will be gone only for a few days," Japan said, and Prussia groaned dramatically. He ignored him and finished buttoning up his jacket.

"Where are you going?" Sealand questioned. He tapped his fingers on the table.

"Nowhere important," Japan replied. "Behave yourselves."

"But the first attack is in four days," Canada said in dismay. He felt somewhat relieved that the moment of his betrayal was farther now. He still wasn't sure about all of this…

"I'll be back in time," Japan answered, taking his bag from Russia. "I'm sorry to leave you so suddenly, but this is important. Meet me at Munich in four days."

He glanced up at the clock. "My plane is departing soon. Goodbye everyone. _Behave_. You especially, Prussia. Don't invite people we don't know over, and concentrate on how to subdue your brother Germany."

"How well do we have to not know them?" Prussia asked, raising his hand in the air. "I kind of wanted a party or something…"

"You should be worried about your brother instead," Japan advised. "You too, Canada. You both know your brothers better than anyone else."

"I'm not worried," Prussia said carelessly, waving a hand, "My _bruder_ is nice and all, but the prospect of being a true nation again is just too awesome to pass up. I'll win."

"Take care then," Japan nodded at them, closing the door behind him. As soon as it clicked closed, Sealand sat up.

"Anyone else other than me wonder where he is going?" he said. "He could be passing information to the enemy for all we know."

"He's not," Russia interjected. "As slippery as he can be, he is not."

"Then where?" Prussia demanded. "It sounds suspicious, and I'm so _bored_ here. Can we follow him? It's not like we have anything else to do…"

"No," Russia said sharply. "Stay here. If you leave I have his permission to terminate you."

Prussia griped for a few more minutes before giving in reluctantly. He did not want to risk Russia's wrath.

"But still," Canada questioned quietly, "Where is he going?"

No one answered him, and he sighed and set to work on the plans for attack, ignoring Prussia trying to burp out the alphabet next to him.

He arrived after a few hours, and it was late evening in Spain. The reddish sun was sinking slowly behind the trees, setting the sky a fiery orange.

He pulled out his map and studied it carefully. Japan made his way to the eastern side of the small town, taking note of the old-lookingh buildings. This was a village, comprised of farmers and country people. It was not close to any major cities, but it was beautiful and quiet in its own way. Japan supposed there was not many places like that in the world anymore.

He finally arrived at the villa just as night fell. It was still warm and a little humid, and he stepped down the small rocky path to the door. It was lined with a few rosebushes, but it looked like their owner had failed to make them bloom. Some tomatoes were unsuccessfully trying to grow in a little cardboard box, and Japan raised an eyebrow. Some were labeled with names like pets, and there was a dusty abandoned songbook next to them. There was definitely a eccentric air about the place.

He knocked the door, nervously twining his fingers. After a moment, a man opened it.

"Yeah?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe. "What do you want?"

Japan caught his breath. It took a moment for him to find the words. The man quirked an eyebrow at him, mouth set in a almost perpetual pout. His hair was auburn and his face reminded Japan strongly of Italy, down to the sharp perky nose and bright eyes.

"Romano-san," Japan addressed him formally, bowing. "I'm so sorry to bother you. I came to talk to you."

"Why?" Romano asked, frowning at him. "I don't even know you. Did you come to talk about country business? Italy was unified a while ago, I'm now Italy."

"I know," Japan said. "That's why I wanted to talk. I wanted to talk about that."

"Aren't you gathering for war or something?" Romano pressed. "Because the answer is no."

Japan opened his mouth to protest, to try to change the other's mind, but a fluid voice interrupted him.

"Who is that?" A heavily accented voice asked from inside the house. Romano sighed and pushed the door closed more.

"No one that matters."

"Well, invite them in! It's rude to keep people outside, Romano!"

Romano closed his eyes in frustration, opening the door all the way.

"Whatever, Spain you jerk."

Japan entered gratefully, looking around at the brightly painted walls. The front door opened directly into the living room, and the wall was painted a heated pink and yellow. There was the beginnings of what looked like a lazy painting of flowers on the right side. It clashed but somehow matched in a crazy way.

A man with tanned skin came into the living room, wiping his hands on his front. He smiled brightly at Japan, green eyes twinkling. He took his hand and shook it vigorously.

"_Ola!_ You never come to visit! Japan, was it? I've only seen you at meetings! I just finished making dinner! You want some? Why are you here? Nevermind, you can tell us all about it over dinner! Was Romano rude to you? I'm sorry! He doesn't mean it! Well, go wash up!" he said in all one long stream without a single breath, smile never wavering. It was a warm and a little off center smile, but it made Japan feel comfortable anyway. He smiled back, and Spain flitted back into the kitchen dreamily.

"He's like that all the time," Romano said, nudging the couch with his foot. "It drives me crazy. He talks too much and treats me like a little kid. It's on purpose. And he doesn't do anything about the mafia that keeps bugging my people in South Italy. Jerk."

Japan nodded and began to go up the stairs, looking at the flowers that had been painted on the rails. They were pretty, but confused him as the flowers seemed to morph what looked like churros halfway up the steps.

Romano followed, still scowling. His hostile attitude bothered Japan a little, but he pushed away the feeling and instead tried to strike up a conversation.

"Are these paintings yours?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as friendly as possible. It took an effort to change his normally emotionless tone.

"No, they're Spain's," Romano responded, and his scowl darkened again. "Sometimes he just takes out paints and does them for no reason, painting whatever pops into his head. I came home last week and he was trying to paint an elephant on the ceiling. He taped a chair to the ceiling to paint it. It's still there because he forgot all about it. He never finishes them, and it annoys me. It's like a little kid with crayons or something. Doesn't he remember I'm the one who has to wash them off? Jeez…"

Japan turned the corner, finding the bathroom. He washed his hands in the sink. The mirror had little cats and what looked like candies painted onto the rim. It trailed off to the far side of the wall and turned into an unfinished picture of Romano with a cartoonish sulk.

Romano fingered his curl and stared accusingly at Japan. Japan held out his hand, bowing slightly.

"I apologize for not introducing myself earlier," he said.

"Yeah, I know, you're Japan. I'm South Italy. We went through this," said Romano, rolling his eyes. "You don't remember?"

"You can call me Kiku," Japan said, forcing a small smile onto his lips. Romano's brow furrowed.

"Whatever."

They went down the stairs, and Spain greeted them with a cheery smile and set down their plates. It was chicken and saffron rice with carrots, and it tasted of olive oil with a hint of white wine. It was delicious.

"So, to what do we owe this pleasant surprise?" Spain asked, absentmindedly taking Romano's spoon from his plate and using it, much to Romano's chagrin.

"I'm just visiting," Japan said. "I…realized I did not know you two very well."

"Stay as long you like!" Spain said, clapping once. "We'd love to have you here! Romano needs someone to talk to anyway. He has no friends! At least I'm here, right?"

"I don't need friends," Romano muttered. Spain laughed and reached over to ruffle his hair.

"That's right! I'm always here! So don't worry, my little Romano Tomato!"

"…Shut up."

Spain got up and got the pan from the stove, heaping more onto his plate. He offered it to Japan, who politely declined.

"You can live here if you want," Spain said, eating at lightning speed. Japan was taken aback.

"Th-that…won't be necessary…"

"Our doors are always open," Spain told him, pushing his chair back and taking their empty plates. "My house is your house. _Mi casa su casa._ Italy spoke of you whenever he visited. I'm sorry he's not here anymore, he was a good boy."

Japan looked down, biting his lip. Romano sighed impatiently and got up and left. He watched him go, still stunned by his resemblance to his brother.

Spain began to wash the dishes.

"There's some land not far from here," he said. "Italy was planning to build a summer home there, but the project was dead for many years. About a month ago, he telegrammed us from the _Titanic II_ and asked us to rebuild it. He said something about staying there permanently when he was home-"

"Where is it?" Japan interrupted, getting up so fast it startled Spain. Spain thought for a moment, then gestured vaguely to the south.

"It's next to the beach. Still just foundations, though. He had some really big plans for it. He wanted four huge rooms with hand-painted walls and mosaics and a pool outside. A balcony too. He had some big ambitions…I asked him how he was going to afford it and what it was for all of a sudden, and he said he just wanted it. I asked where he was getting the money, and he said he was going to build it himself."

"All by himself?" Japan whispered. Spain nodded.

"He said he wanted to paint all the rooms and tile them with pictures. Then he wanted to plant marguerites and tomatoes all around it and some other things. It was a long telegram. Brick by brick, he said, until it was all finished. Then he wanted to stay there for the rest of his life and not move unless it was for business."

Japan sat back down, silent. Inside his shirt, the locket was cool against his skin. He fingered it, deep in thought.

"Romano!" Spain called, drying his hands. "Do you want to come help me with the rest of the chores? There's a lot of them, and I'd really appreciate your help!"

"No," Romano called back. "I'm busy. Idiot. Leave me alone."

Spain didn't seem daunted, and he simply called back with a cheerful okay and grabbed the broom. Japan wondered seriously if Spain could read people at all, or if he just was too nice to say anything.


	31. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Shadows**

The door swung open, and Spain gestured Japan into the room. It was a little musty but well-kept.

"You can sleep here," he said. "There's no other rooms, and Romano hates sharing. It's the same as when he left it, I'm sorry. I never touched it."

"It's…fine," Japan said, looking around. It was eerie, frozen in time. The bed was rumpled slightly, the desk was full of papers both legal and artistic. Japan stepped carefully over a light jacket on the carpet. Italy's clothes were tossed off to the side as if he had decided to fold and hang them up, but grew bored halfway. A pair of swimming shorts were still dangling out the windowsill.

Spain bobbed next to him, suddenly nervous looking. He looked around the room in a way that was almost fear.

"I closed it when he left. He didn't come back, and I didn't go in. He used to visit…for every summer…"

Spain stared at the floor, subdued. Japan reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

"I am deeply sorry. It's my fault he's not here."

Spain shook his head, shaking out his brown curls. He cleared his throat audibly and turned away to walk out. The bounce in his step was diminished.

"It's…o-okay…join us for breakfast tomorrow? I'm making some tostados and more churros…see you in the morning."

He shut the door behind him, and Japan was left standing there with one cold thought freezing his mind over.

Spain had not disagreed with his statement.

He opened all the drawers. He knew he shouldn't and Spain would be unhappy if he knew, but Japan opened them anyway. There wasn't much, only clothes and papers that spoke of legal matters from his boss. There was a sketchbook with doodles of Austria and Hungary from his childhood days, and some newer scrawls that had Romano and Spain. Romano was drawn with a large, almost cartoonish scowl on his face, and it made Japan nearly laugh. There was some self-portraits, but Italy had scribbled over them in what looked like embarrassment or frustration.

He put it carefully away after that, sliding it to the back of the drawer. Japan swung his legs out of bed, slipping to the floor and walking over to the restroom for a drink.

As he sipped the cool water, he looked over at the cabinet. On a whim, he threw them open. There was nothing much, only some half-used soap and a brightly painted box with shells and random trinkets that had caught Italy's eye. There was even a very old tortellini recipe on a yellow, crumbly piece of parchment that Japan suspected may have been the first record of it ever.

He closed it up with a sigh. He felt like a spy, looking through Italy's things. But it felt exhilarating to do it, to know ever more. Nevertheless, he forced himself back into bed and fell into a heavy sleep.

The morning sun dripped through the chinks of the blinds, waking him up. Japan stretched, standing up blearily. He went to go take a quick bath and changed. When he was finished, Romano opened the door, brushing his teeth.

"You slept so late," he informed him, "Spain didn't want to wake you, but it's definitely late. You missed breakfast. What the heck is wrong with you?"

"Hello," Japan greeted, deciding he didn't hear any of his words. "I am sorry I missed breakfast."

"Sure," Romano said, rolling his eyes again. "Spain said to leave your food out for you. I ate your helping anyway."

Japan chewed on his lip, staring at Romano. He looked like Italy very much. It puzzled him how his personality could be so different. He shrugged it off and went down the stairs.

"Why were you staring at me?" Romano demanded, following. "And now you're off again. Weirdo."

Japan ignored him, rolling up his sleeves.

"I am going to make my own breakfast because you ate mine," he said. He poked around and found some rice. "It's late, so I'll just make lunch instead. Do you want to help me?"

Romano made a scoffing noise.

"Um, no. I'm busy."

"Watch me, then?"

"Why? You're nuts."

Japan set a pot of water on the stove, turning it on.

"Your brother liked to watch and help me," he responded. Italy had hung out in the kitchen often with him, trying to learn how to roll proper rice balls. He remembered the day Italy had tried to make Germany a bento box, and the serious nation had chastised him for playing with food. Despite that, Italy had always liked Japan's food.

Romano took a seat in the chair across the counter.

"Fine, whatever. But I'm not my brother. I'm just watching."

Japan nodded, taking a kerchief from his pocket and sweeping his hair back and out of the way. He set to work.

Romano eyed him as he began to slice some carrots, the rice off to the side and boiling.

"…I don't like carrots."

Japan took a deep breath, accidentally cutting into the countertop.

"I won't put any in yours, okay?"

"It just looks weird anyway. Probably tastes weird too."

Japan swallowed hard and started on some zucchini.

He rolled the rice into formed balls with his hands, poking his finger gently in and adding some meat and vegetables. He placed it down on the plate, arranging the rest of the steamed vegetables around it.

"Do you want to do it?" he asked Romano hopefully, pushing the plate towards him. "Italy liked arranging them."

"How do you want me to do it?" Romano demanded. "I'm not the one making it."

Japan glared at him, feeling hurt and upset, but didn't say anything. He took it away and finished it himself.

Spain entered the kitchen a few minutes later, washing his hands in the sink. He looked as though he had been trying to garden again, and sure enough, Japan could see some daisies that were growing sideways up the house in strangely tilted pots. He wondered if he should tell Spain they couldn't be taped to the pot and needed to anchor with dirt instead, but held his tongue out of politeness.

"Wow! It looks nice!" Spain exclaimed, sitting down and digging into his plate. "Thank you so much, you didn't need to do anything at all!"

"It was not a problem," Japan murmured, sitting down on the chair. He took off the kerchief and wiped his forehead with it, stuffing it back into his pocket.

"Why don't you just get a haircut?" Romano snubbed, not touching his plate. Japan flushed.

"It's not that long. I like it this way. It reminds me of a long time ago. And this is the way it falls onto my face…"

Romano shrugged. "Still long. It looks like a girl's. I thought you were a girl when you knocked. Gain some weight or something. My stupid brother could've picked you up, and that's saying something."

Japan flushed a deeper crimson, sinking into his chair. He fingered a strand of his black hair over his ears, wondering bizarrely if Italy had thought that too. He dismissed it almost immediately, deciding he looked fine no matter what anyone thought.

"I don't like it," Romano decided, pushing the plate away. Spain looked up at him in surprise.

"Eh? Why? It tastes nice, Romano!"

Romano waved him away. "It tastes weird and foreign. I hate it. I mean, who eats this?"

Japan couldn't take it, and he buried his face in his hands. Romano got up and walked away, and Spain desperately tried to console him.

"R-Romano! That's rude! Apologize! I'm sorry, Japan, he doesn't mean it, I swear—"

"_Yes he does!_" Japan yelled, angrily wiping his hot tears. "He treats you like _dirt!_ He's nothing like Feliciano!"

Spain paused, still rubbing circles on his back. He look as though he was on the verge of tears himself.

Japan got up abruptly and went up to his room, packing all of his things into his bag as fast as he could.

Why had he even bothered? There was no other answer but war. He was an idiot to think of the chance of anything else. This is why he was alive…to fight his way to the top and nothing else, he told himself.

He walked over to the phone in the hallway, picking it up and dialing. It rang seven times before it was answered.

"_Privyet,_ this is Russia. Hello, Japan."

Japan fumbled in his bag, trying to zip it shut.

"How did you know it was me?"

A high giggle. "I know everything?"

"I'll pretend I did not hear that. I'll find out sooner or later anyway. Probably one of your gadgets. Listen, I am coming home early. Get to Munich."

"Hmm…" Russia sounded thoughtful on the other end. "Why?"

"Because I wish to. Get ready. That's an order."

"You can't order me. We're both the leaders in this."

"Do as I say, Ivan Braginsky. I am not in the mood for your games."

"_Da,_ Commander Kiku Honda."

Japan winced at the mocking tone and decided to deal with it later. "Bring the weapon."

There was a brief silence, and Japan sighed.

"I can't hear you nodding over the phone."

Russia giggled. "All right, I will be there. So terribly _sorry_ about Romano."

Japan did a double take.

"Wh-wha—how do you even know where I am?"

"Oops, I said too much…teeheehee…"

"Cameras? Really?"

"Nope. Turn around and say hi and be quiet."

"What do you even—"

Japan nearly dropped the phone when a large gloved hand rested gently on his shoulder. He smacked it off.

"Russia! Why are you here?"

Russia cocked his head, smiling.

"I arrived this morning, actually. Stop writing in your diary, it's going to make me drown in tears."

He dodged Japan's kick of anger easily, putting up his hands.

"Don't worry, everyone else is still at your house. I've been in your room since five this morning. Do you know you have a little mole right on your right shoulderblade? And you snore like a dying chicken?"

Japan swiped at him again, furious.

"But _why_ are you even here? I didn't call for you!"

"I'm your escort, what else? I also needed to make sure you hadn't abandoned the plan in some emotional, tearful circumstance. Looks like I got here just in time. Too bad I didn't hide in the kitchen or something, your face would've been something to see…"

"If you are here, you might as well be useful," Japan snapped, shoving his bag into his arms. "Go wait at the airport."

Russia bowed and tipped an imaginary hat. "Why yes, sir. May I take your order, too? We have a very nice dish of mule with a side of bad-tempered...may I recommend it with a shot of recklessly inane?"

"…_Go. Now._"


	32. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Intermission**

America watched until he could no longer. The terminal was still clouded with smoke on the screen, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the corpses.

"Sir?" a man questioned, cautiously backing away in case America took out his rage. America bowed his head as Japan spoke directly to him onscreen, then lifted his pistol and shot. The screen fizzled out to black static.

"…Just go."

The man nodded nervously, turning on his heel and leaving the room, leaving America to contemplate.

America buried his face in his hands in frustration, running through his blond hair. There was not forgetting this bloodshed. The United States would not stand for it. One of their allies in the upcoming war had been killed, and punishment would follow if he had to kill Japan himself. There was no forgetting the look in Japan's eyes as he had raised his small gun and shot the security screen. He had been smiling, but his eyes were dead set, blank.

When he had shot that monitor, he had been shooting America, and he had let him know it.

America reached for the phone, about to dial England. The man was always good when he had a problem…good at knocking sense and estabilishing some order….his hand froze.

England was dead. He had completely forgotten, for one split second. Instead, his fist clenched around the phone, teeth gritting as he swallowed hard. He began to dial for China, but put it back down.

What was the use? With the loss of Germany, Russia, and England, he was all alone. It boiled down to him and Japan.

The phone rang, startling him. He picked it up, licking dry lips.

"…America."

"Yes, I know. Turn on your television, why don't you?"

"Who is this?"

"You know who it is. Do not play stupid with me, Alfred-teme. Now go and do as I say."

"_Why did you kill him?_" America growled, squeezing the phone as if he was crushing the calm man on the other end of the line.

"Obvious reasons. A setback, isn't it? Do it."

"Not until you stop this. It's crazy!"

"A weak proposal. It does not matter, I suppose. The effects will still be the same. Still, I suggest turning on your television right about now. You'll know why then."

"But—"

There was a dial tone. Japan had hung up. America threw down the phone and grabbed the remote from the table, flicking it on.

It took a moment, then it crackled to life. Japan smiled at him demurely from the screen.

"Now it is on. I suppose we can begin the broadcast now that you have done that. Our_ national_ broadcast. I never realized Russia was so proficient at this…Either way, let us begin. _Good morning, America._"

America stared grimly back, processing the situation at lightning speed. Japan and his allies had hacked into the airwaves. From what he was saying, thousands were watching. It needed to be contained.

"You," he snapped to his assistant, who nodded in fear, "Set your group to locating and destroying the transmission. Try to block it from national TV and redirect it to only here. We need to hear what he has to say, not the whole United States. See if you can find where he is stationed."

"Yes, sir."

The background was an unusual gray-green, smooth against the crisp black of Japan's navy-fashioned uniform. Japan went on.

"I can see you, you know. Cameras are amazing nowadays. Hear you too. But we both know you already knew that the moment you checked into this hotel room to set up equipment base. Now, I have a little surprise that will be sure to demoralize most, if not all, of your fighters."

"Don't," America pleaded under his breath. "Don't let it be what I think it is…"

Japan stepped a little off to the side to allow Russia into the frame.

"You will be pleased to know," Japan said, "That Russia-san and I are now closer than an alliance. Our nations are going to fuse in a few days. Not completely, of course. That would hurt. We will still be separate entities, but our resources will be shared."

America could feel the despair rising already, the utter helplessness of his people, begin to permeate his form. It left him feeling nauseated and dizzy.

Russia…becoming one with Japan? There was no hope. The sheer prospect would kill them all. China, France, the shattered British government, and the United States. America shoved the thoughts away with an effort. Those were the panicked thoughts of his people.

He was sure Scotland and Ireland would side with him. The Nordics would either be neutral or on his side. The Middle East as well, even though they were not on good terms. Saudia Arabia would be a good ally for weapons. Practically the entire rest of the world…

America smiled, feeling a little better about the odds. And his brother would be by his side.

"Oh, yes, something else," Japan said. A tall, nervous looking man with glasses came to stand next to Japan and Russia.

"You _kidnapped_ Matthew?" America yelled, pounding his fist on the table. "That's too far, Japan! You're _dead!"_

"Calm down," said Russia, grinning and holding up a hand for peace, "And let him speak."

Canada chewed on his dangling curl fretfully, avoiding eye contact with the screen. He fidgeted.

"H-hello, Alfred," he squeaked. "I-I'm not…kidnapped…"

"Matthew, I will come for you, I promise," America growled. "You'll be safe—"

"N-no!" Canada said a little bit louder, looking up. "I'm h-here because I want to!"

A cold feeling dropped into America's stomach, dark and icy.

"Oh, God, you're not serious…"

"I am!" Canada was nearly in tears, and he balled his fists, "I'm t-tired of being overshadowed by everything you do! I'm tired of no one seeing me for who I am! And when I am noticed, they all think I'm _you!_ Nothing I do is ever enough! But not anymore!"

"B-but, brother, you're all I have…there's no one else…"

Canada looked away, tears coming down his face. Prussia looked down at the ground.

"Alfred," Canada said, voice cracking. "I just…can't do this anymore. Prussia and Japan helped me kill my superior yesterday. I'm free now, free to make my own choices. I'm not going to give that up."

He fell back, silent, blond head bowed. America's heart ached. Japan leaned forward.

"Feels horrible, doesn't it? To have everyone and everything you love collapse? Describe it for me. I am interested to know if you feel anything at all, actually."

"O-of course I _feel!"_ America choked, "Stop it right now! Mattie, come back, _please!"_

"Touching," Russia interjected. "The great Amerika actually feels."

America punched the television screen, shattering the glass. The image vanished with an electric crackle.

"Thank goodness for backup audio," Japan remarked, voice echoing in the room. America looked around wildly. "There's not much use for that, actually. We're broadcasting live from the top of the Statue of Liberty, almost ten miles from where you are now. You are the only one to hear us at the moment, because of the microphones installed in your room. These words are for you, and you alone. Not that they will be of much use. Good luck and _sayanora, Alfredo-teme. _And for once I am not being the least bit sarcastic, you will need it."

Japan shut off the device and removed the headphones from his head, putting them aside. Canada broke down, crying into his hands.

Japan stood up and drew him down into his arms, patting him gently.

"You did well," he said quietly as Canada sobbed and clasped his jacket so hard it left marks, "We told you it wouldn't be easy. But you did very well. I promise everything will go better for you now…."

"M-my _brother hates me,_" Canada whimpered, and Japan shook his head. His voice was soft and almost dreamy, as if he was speaking from far away.

"No. He still loves you. But does it matter? Think of all the years you've lived, of all the love you've lost. Being unable to live like others because of your duties, seeing the people you loved so much age and die before your eyes. We've all done it, become attached to the humans. And all they gave you was a withered corpse to weep over. Now, is that fair?"

"N-no…"Canada stammered, looking up with big blue eyes.

"You're right. It is not. When other countries come to yours and kill your people, they cause you deep pain. Let us make them pay for everything. Let us live for only one thing as the people do, and that is ourselves."

"I understand," Canada murmured, watching Russia and Sealand pack away the equipment. Japan nodded approvingly, letting go of the man.

"That is right. Never love anything ever again, you understand?"

He turned away. Canada stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Then he lunged.

"No!" he yelled, grabbing hold of Japan. They tumbled to the floor, Canada's arm hooking around his neck.

"You're wrong, you're wrong, you're _wrong!"_ he shrieked, his larger body pinning Japan to the deck. Japan struggled as the man clumsily fumbled at his throat, trying to slip his fingers through the tight collar.

"Nothing you said was right! I _do_ love, and I will never stop! It's what keeps me here, what keeps me going—"

Japan twisted his hip, kicking out at Canada. Canada was thrown against the railing, completely off balance. Japan stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder, eyes unreadable.

"Goodbye, Matthew Williamss," he said, and pushed the man off the railing.

Canada fell backward, his eyes going wide. He threw out his arms in a pathetic attempt to stop himself, and opened his mouth to scream.

"Brother," he wailed, and Japan watched as Canada tumbled out of sight.


	33. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Apology**

Prussia ran to the edge of the railing, looking over the edge with a look of horror.

"_You killed him!"_ he yelled, gaping at Japan. Japan shook his head.

"You forget something vital," he said. "He is related to America not in blood, but in how they are both similar. None of us are actually related in any way, no matter what we say. Canada is America's brother, that is, they are both superpowers. I imagine it takes more than that to kill one. It would take one of us killing him personally to completely kill him. Is he hurt? Very. Dead? I think not."

Prussia looked at him in disbelief.

"B-but…he's now hurt…what are we going to do? I don't want to leave him there—"

"You were not given an option," Japan said a little more sharply than he intended to, and Prussia's face fell. "He will survive. You saw the way America and him fight in combat. They're superhuman. America himself can jump up to seven feet easily. Someone like that will live through this. Factor in that he is a country, and it is a certainty."

He turned to leave, and Russia fell into step next to him. The tall man chuckled.

"Said all those things for your own benefit, didn't you?"

"…Be quiet."

Russia fixed him with violet eyes. "I bet you cannot believe you just did that. I bet you can't stomach the idea of actually killing him face to face. Japan is much more fragile and sensitive than that—"

"I said to be _quiet._"

"Mmm, I don't really need to bother. You know security of the highest degree is running up these steps right now. How will you take them out, I wonder? Push them over the edge? Except they won't live. Does that bother you?"

Japan stopped midstep, breath catching. Sure enough, he could hear the footsteps coming up the stairs. Voices, angry and shouting.

"…Russia."

"_Da?_" He was smiling wider now.

"Take them out. Utilize Sealand. Keep Prussia to the back, he's weaker than he'd like to admit. I don't have anything but a pistol and my sword. These are highly trained men."

"What a steep price to pay for the sheer drama of broadcasting from the Statue of Liberty…"

Japan drew his sword, feeling the familiar weight of his blade. This was close quarter fighting. No use for his gun here. He was much more confident in his sword this time.

"There's not that many. It takes quite a bit to hurt us, remember? And they'll use tasers, batons, and other small-range devices. They can't afford hitting one of their own. And America most likely wants me alive."

Russia nodded and took out his old water pipe, stroking the sides lovingly. Sealand grunted and flexed his muscles, and Prussia took out an old Teutonic dagger with faded gems on its handle.

"You know," Russia reflected aloud, "I've had this pipe ever since I was young. I pulled it out of a ruined house for a weapon."

"Nostalgia?" Japan asked sarcastically. Russia swung it playfully at his head.

"Don't get too comfortable…_fufufu…_"

A man came up the stairs, dressed in full-body armor. He raised his small gun.

"_Get down and drop your weapons!_" he shouted. Japan grinned and dropped his gun to the stairs, kicking it forward with his foot. He lifted both hands in a gesture of peace.

"Take it," he said, "I give up."

The man cautiously reached out and grasped the weapon, handling it expertly. He turned it over to take out the ammunition. Other men in armor came up the stairs behind him.

"Ah, I apologize," Japan said, watching as the gun suddenly imploded and released a cloud of gas. "That was another good reason I didn't use that."

The gas did not do much to prevent their breathing, as the men were wearing masks over their faces. Instead, it covered them with a white film so they had to stop and wipe them.

"Is..this…" the leader asked slowly, rubbing at his face, "_Baby powder—_"

Sealand's mighty fist punched into his head, and helmet or not, the man collapsed. Gunfire sounded, and the bullets richoted off Sealand's body, a side effect of being a country constructed of steel.

Japan dropped and rolled, coming up behind the police team. He grabbed the taser out of one of their hands, stabbing it onto his back and switching it on. He jolted and screamed, falling back. His partner turned, gun poised. Russia's pipe smashed into his body.

"You owe me so much," Russia lamented, giving the weapon a light twirl. "You need to begin paying me. At least sixty an hour. Or seventy. I'll think it over, all right?"

Japan ignored him and fell in a defensive crouch, sword held in front of him.

Prussia took the dagger and swung, slicing the air expertly. The last man backed away, dodging the strikes. Japan came up, twisting his hips fluidly, and he plunged the sword into his chest.

It cut through his body armor with deadly force, the blade forged of the finest steel. Japan watched, panting, as it slid out of his body slickly, and the man thudded to the stairs.

"Good work," Russia praised, noting Japan's slightly disgusted expression. "Maybe you don't need me after all."

America watched as Canada, his beloved brother, was carried out of the water in a stretcher. The emergency personnel placed an air mask over his pale face. He looked white, his blond hair so much like America's tangled and damp. His glasses were gone. He looked as though he was dead, and blood from his head and spine injuries was already discoloring his flesh.

"We're losing him!" a paremedic hollered, hand on Canada's wrist. "It's slowing…gone...now it's back up…we need to get him stable…"

America knew what was happening. This was the horror of being a nation, especially a superpower. Canada was dying over and over, and he felt it every time with terrible clarity.

"I'll kill you," America muttered, looking out at the coast. There was no answer of course, and it made him only angrier. That cursed silence had been a frequent reply from Japan all his life.

A paramedic removed a soggy piece of paper from Canada's jacket pocket and handed it to America.

"It says for you."

America unfolded it carefully, and his eyes narrowed at the words. They were written in small letters, in a delicate hand that he immediately recognized. It was only four words, but it increased his rage further.

_I am sorry, Alfred._

He crumpled it up, tearing it to pieces and throwing it to the grass. He ground it into the dirt with his boot, the confused cries of the emergency personnel still calling out Canada's fluctuating heartbeat.


	34. Chapter 35

**Chapter Thirty-Five: After Image**

Japan entered the house, swinging groceries in his hands. He took off the scarf from around his neck, setting the bags on the counter. Prussia stared at him from across the room, and Sealand was amusing himself with a small ball.

"I'm home," Japan said quietly, and no one answered him. He sighed and began putting the groceries away. Prussia kept on gazing blankly.

"_So _glad you're home," Russia greeted, coming into the kitchen, "We all missed you terribly. Especially me. What's for dinner, _mother?_"

"Shut up," Japan muttered, and Russia left, giggling.

This was nothing like his days as an Axis. At least then…it was almost like a semblance of family…

"_I'm home!" Japan called out, and Germany barely looked up from his paperwork. _

_ "Hello," he answered absently. "What's for dinner?"_

_Japan decided to not bring to attention that he had been fixing dinner for the past week, and his and Italy's turns were long overdue. He was too polite to say such a thing._

"_Um…rice again, I suppose…?"_

_Germany shrugged and bent over his work. War took many, many, papers._

_Italy entered the kitchen like a wrecking ball, careening straight into Japan. His arms wrapped tightly around his middle, still warm from his sleep._

_ "Ciao! Where were you? It took forever! Can I help with dinner?"_

_Japan threw the affectionate Italian off him with an effort, placing the last can in the pantry. Italy beamed and scooped up the now empty canvas bags, skipping off to place them over the hooks in the other room._

_He came back soon after, sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor. Japan swept back his hair and rolled up his sleeves, setting to work on boiling rice. _

"_Why didn't you ask me to come with you?" Italy complained lightly, standing up and rummaging through the cupboards in a quest for food, "I really wanted to go with you…."_

_ "You were asleep," Japan said crisply. He added some salt to the rice._

"_Oh yeah! My siesta!" Italy exclaimed, pulling back his hand as Japan smacked at it with a spoon, "I like taking naps in the middle of the day! So does Spain! You should try it sometime—"_

"I am not getting any younger," Russia remarked, and Japan jumped. The rice he was fixing was bubbling over the pot and smelled burnt. He hastily grabbed a spoon and stirred it.

"What were you doing anyway?" Russia questioned. "You looked as though you weren't there."

"I am fine," Japan said sharply. "Thank you for your concern—_ow!"_

A few drops of hot water had splashed onto his hand, leaving a red raw mark. Japan dropped the utensil and clutched his hand in pain.

"What's wrong?" Prussia asked boredly. Russia bent down swiftly and took hold of Japan's hand.

"It is not so bad," Japan snapped, trying to pull his hand away unsuccessfully, "Burns heal…"

Russia grabbed a rag from the counter and soaked it in cold water, wringing it out and wrapping it around his hand. Japan hissed through his teeth at the contact.

"Leave it alone," Japan said, and Russia ignored him and led him into the bathroom, taking a bandage from the cabinet. He placed it over Japan's hand…

"_Ow!" Italy shrieked, and he snatched his hand back from the pot. Japan turned to see Italy clutching his hand to his chest, little tears beginning to form in the cornerof his hazel eyes._

"_Let me see!" Japan said, grabbing his hand in his own. Italy sniffed, trying to hold back._

_ "O-ow…it huuuuuurts…"_

"_You burnt yourself!" Japan said sternly. He dragged him over to the bathroom. "Sit. I'll get a bandage."_

_Italy sat on the toilet, still sniffling and holding his hand. Japan came over and began to carefully wrap the gauze over it._

"_There. Feel better?"_

_ "Y-yes…"_

_Italy flushed, moving his hand back. "It feels fine now. Thank you."_

_Japan cleared his throat. "Ah…you are welcome. Be more careful next time please…."_

"…more careful next time," Russia was saying. "Are you listening at all? You're doing it again…"

"I'm _fine!"_ Japan said, and he yanked himself away. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he took a deep breath. Russia actually gave a little frown and got up, putting the bandage back in the cabinet.

"Are you dreaming or something? Or dying? Would be good news, but still—"

"Just shut it," Japan muttered, and he shoved past him on his way out.

He went outside, shutting the paper screen door hard behind him. The sky was a fire-orange as the sun set, and a chill wind ruffled his hair. He sat down silently, breathing in the air of his garden nearby. Cherry blossom trees were swaying in the breeze, and his thoughts wandered again…

_He was sitting on the grass, the sun giving everything an aurora. An auburn-haired man poked his head around the edge of the trees, face a glowing pink. _

"_Kiku!" he cried out, and he collapsed next to him on the grass, laughing. Japan could feel himself begin to smile. Italy propped himself up on his elbows and lazily traced circles in the green grass. He pulled something from his pocket and dropped it on Japan's lap._

"_What is this?" Japan asked slowly, and Italy's smile could've shattered the sun in its brilliance._

_ "Daisies! They're dried daisies! And blossoms! You like flowers, yes? The daisies are old, I dried them before I came here on the ship, but you can have them!"_

_Japan could only understand a little of what Italy was saying, and he realized he was speaking a hashed mixture of Japanese and Italian. Something was off…he looked down at the flowers._

_ "Can I draw you?" Italy asked, pulling out a paper and charcoal pencil. Japan stared at him, not comprehending what he wanted. What was wrong with him? Since when had he not understood Italian…? Or any language in the world for that matter?_

_Italy pushed at his shoulder a little, showing him the pencil and paper. He suddenly understood what he wished and nodded to appease him, lying back on the grass._

_Italy's warm hands took the flowers gently from him, arranging them all around his head. Japan watched curiously as Italy began to sketch, fingers quick and experienced. _

"_Close your eyes," Italy laughed. "I can't draw when you are staring at me like that!"_

_Japan obeyed, settling into the flower bed with his eyes shut. He didn't understand almost anything of what Italy was chattering to him as he drew, but it interested him anyway. He had never seen people such as this before. Tanned and tall, with eyes that shone like blue skies and gold. His eyes were strange and round, but he was always smiling. Japan decided he could forgive his social ineptness for the moment…after all, he was a guest…_

_And it suddenly all clicked in his mind…_

"Are you awake?"

Japan groaned, feeling the images fade away. His cheek was on a cold surface, and he made a little noise of discontent as he realized he was very much in the present.

"L-leave me be…"

"You fell asleep on the porch," Russia told him. "Are you sick?"

Japan was dimly aware of Russia sitting next to him, taking off his Soviet jacket and draping it over him.

"Tell me what is the matter," Russia said. "Do we need to cancel tomorrow? What is wrong with you?"

"Why do…you care?" Japan mumbled, and he closed his eyes again, ignoring Russia's frustrated sigh. He felt a twinge of pleasure as Russia got up and left, leaving him out on the porch.

Japan let his eyelids close, and he allowed himself to slip back into sleep.


	35. Chapter 36

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Strength**

"_Japan?" China asked, and a look of puzzlement had come over his face. "What are you doing out so late-aru? Come in, I made some nice food…"_

_Japan bowed his head, shoulders shaking. He slowly moved a hand to the handle of his sword._

_A look of confusion took over the puzzlement, and China tucked his ponytail over his shoulder. "What are you doing-aru? Be careful, that is sharp, Japan-kun…Japan? Wh-what are—"_

_By now Japan had crossed the door, and China shrank from him as he drew the long katakana with a rasp. Japan's eyes had a look China had never seen before, blank and emotionless. A darkness that should have never been there._

_ "Forgive me," Japan whispered, and he swung. China's scream imprinted itself forever on his memory, and he had never been able to let go of the tortured look in China's dark eyes. _

_He let the sword drop from his hands, falling to his knees. He trembled as he began to sob, raising both hands to cover the shame on his face._

"_Forgive me," he wailed, and China lay still, breath coming in agonized pants as blood flowed from the wound on his back. The gash was deep, covering the length of his spine. Japan continued to cry, and his heart hurt. He had struck China…the only person who had ever called him family…_

_ "J-Japan…" China groaned, and Japan cried harder as China lifted a pale, shaky hand and ran it through his black hair. "Don't…cry."_

"_Forgive me," Japan wept, snatching China's hand and pressing it to his cheek. China's eyes were dull with pain, and China exhaled unsteadily._

_ "N-no…you were just doing…what you were told…I raised you well-aru…"_

_Japan looked up in shock. Then, he pounded an passionate fist to the bamboo floor._

"_No! I didn't have to listen to my commander! I should kill him for ever even suggesting this!"_

_ "No…Japan…you misunderstand…"_

_China coughed, back wracking with pain. "You…are a good country…We will now be at war…but please remember…you need to be strong. Keep on going. Stay resilient-aru. Grow to be the most powerful country in all the world, don't cry in front of anyone."_

_ "I hate my boss!" Japan cried. "I hate being a country! I don't want to h-hurt…"_

"_P-please remember…" China interrupted, hand now holding firmly on Japan's jaw to keep his gaze, "That no matter what…I will always love you and forgive you, no matter what happens, aru."_

_And China died at Japan's hands for the first time, leaving the child he had found in the bamboo thicket so long ago behind to cry._

America walked up the well-worn pathway, kicking at pebbles. He knew the way very well, from all the times he used to visit. It felt strange to walk it for another reason completely.

The cherry trees came into sight, and America could hear the water running from the spring not far off. He could see the porch of Japan's house in the distance.

_I'm here to negotiate,_ he reminded himself. He would have to be civil and collected. He took a deep breath and patted down his jacket. America cleared his throat as the house came into full view.

He opened his mouth to yell for Japan to come on out, but shut it in surprise. Japan was already out on the porch, fast asleep. A Soviet coat was covering most of his body.

America came a little closer, cautiously. Japan was really asleep. His hair was a mess in his flushed face, and his mouth was slightly open. America bent down next to him, still alert. Japan murmured, making him jump.

America considered waiting until he woke up, just to scare him. He eyed Japan's vulnerable sleep-warm form. It would be so easy to end this all now, to stop the war. No one was around at the moment.

America shifted, moving closer. His heart pounded. Wasn't it his American duty, to end the war as soon as possible? All he had to do was reach out and take hold of him…he was sure he could smother any of his cries. No one would know, and he would be celebrated. But, America thought, feeling a pang, maybe he didn't have the guts or courage to hurt him. Japan had been his friend. He couldn't just kill him like that. And negotiations were supposed to be nonviolent…

He suddenly thought of Canada, still in limbo, and his gaze hardened. America stretched out his fingers, barely brushing Japan's sloped shoulders—

The end of what appeared to be a long thick faucet nudged his chin, freezing his hand in place and forcing him to turn.

"I wouldn't touch," Russia advised.

America pulled back his hand slowly, and Japan made a small sound, curling up with head to knees.

"I came to negotiate terms," he said stiffly, and Russia raised an eyebrow, not moving the pipe. "_Aaand_ I can see we are not allies any longer, you and I. Put down the…er, faucet."

"You're on our grounds, our rules," Russia pointed out. "I remove it when I feel you are no longer a threat. And you are still very much a threat. Step away from Japan."

"I don't want to," America said stubbornly. "I came to talk business with him. That's all."

"Business?" Russia snickered, lavender eyes glinting. "Then how do you explain me finding you trying to strangle him, hmm? Or is that also _business_?"

"What? I didn't even _touch _him yet!" America yelled angrily. "I just want to—"

"Get in the house," Russia ordered, poking him in the back. "You'll wake him up."

America shut up, glaring. Russia herded him inside and shut the door.

"What do you want?" Russia asked with an undertone of false politeness. "Can I get you coffee? Or maybe tea? How about Earl Gray?"

America flinched at the little jab at England's death. "No. I want to discuss this with Japan, if you don't mind."

Russia leaned forward. "I do mind. You do realize our assets are merged? Apart from our separate selves, our countries are merged together on the map. Talk to me or leave."

"Fine," America sighed. "I want to discuss this war. What exactly are you looking for?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Russia said, grabbing a bottle off the top shelf and taking a long swig. "Prussia wants the world to know his name again, Sealand wants recognition, and I want to simply observe Japan and perhaps gain the world in the process."

"Yes, I know that," America said. "But what does _Japan_ want? What's in it for him?"

Russia gulped, thrusting the bottle at him. "Want some?"

America glanced at the suspicious clear liquid. "Not first thing in the morning, Russia. I don't run on the same stuff you do, jeez. Now answer my question, commie."

Russia shrugged, replacing the bottle on its shelf. "No need to get rude. Hmm…Japan's reasons are many. You'll have to ask him yourself."

"People are dying everyday," America said desperately. "Just tell him to stop. Use anything. People have to stop dying _now._ Please…I'll get him a good doctor or something to fix his head problems...he just needs to stop…"

Russia shook his head. "It won't work. For reasons I don't know completely, Japan is intent on destroying you no matter how long it takes. I don't think this is all Italy, though a lot of it may be. I think it's a symbol to him, to annihilate everyone else besides himself. And even that he may do in the end. Who knows? All I know is I'm going to be there when it happens, to help push him over the cliff when he asks. And he knows that. I'll always be there, all the way until the end, eternally at his side. I won't miss it _for the world_."

"But—" America began, but Russia shushed him as Japan's voice came from outside.

"Russia-san?" Japan called from outside the door. "I want to return your coat…"

"You've overstayed your welcome," Russia informed America icily. He pushed him to the back door. "Now leave. Quickly."

"Can I talk—" America tried, but Russia shoved him roughly out the door.

"No, you can't. Now go before I decide to let Japan deal with you in a dark room. _Alone._"

He shut the back door just as Japan entered, carrying the large coat in his arms.

"Who was that?" Japan asked suspiciously, and Russia shrugged, grinning.

"I sent Prussia to obtain some oranges. He'll be back soon."

"Oranges?" Japan's too pale face looked feverish in the dim morning light. "I'd…really like some. I hope he gets back soon."

Russia nodded half-heartedly, and Japan climbed up on the chair next to the counter, using his arms as a pillow. He breathed a little erratically, and Russia passed by him, wondering if he was coming down with something.

He entered Prussia and Sealand's bedroom, hoisting Prussia up by the front of his tank top.

"Whatsa big deal?" the albino mumbled, squinting at him. Russia shook him to clear his senses, and Prussia squeaked as he realized his position.

"H-hey! Put me down! This is _not awesome!_"

"Be quiet," Russia said, "Go out and get some oranges."

Prussia frowned at him.

"Are you nuts or something, not that you aren't already anyway, but it's like _five frikin' thirty_, waaaaay too early to crave stuff like that! The town is five miles away! _Are you pregnant? _It's _cold_ out—"

"Go now or I will cave your skull in," Russia said in a deadly soft whisper, dropping Prussia to the unforgiving floor. Prussia grumbled and slipped on his pants over his boxers, still glaring.

"But it's _cooooold…"_

"Wear a jacket."

"But it's _faaaaaaaaar…_"

"Then you better start walking."


	36. Chapter 37

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Descent**

Japan felt as though he was floating, and everything swam in front of him. He was cold, freezingly so. His teeth chattered and he tried to snatch with trembling fingers the blanket. Someone took it from him, and he whined, reaching out.

"Please…c-cold…"

Russia shook his head at him and put the blanket off to the side. Japan laid limply on the futon, eyes half-open and taking in shuddering breaths. He was shivering despite his extremely high fever, skin a deep blush, as if he was on fire.

Russia took up the wet rag and pressed it to Japan's sweaty forehead, elicting a small whimper.

"I'm home!" Prussia announced, slamming open the door. He dumped the oranges onto Russia's lap, frowning at Japan. "Um, what's the matter with him?"

"Consequences," Russia said, picking up and weighing an orange in his hand. "He is undergoing the severe consequences of financial crisis. Think back to when you were a country, Prussia. You never got sick because of bacteria like a mortal. It was always financial things."

"Yeah, but it was usually a cold," Prussia protested, taking Japan's wrist to find that his pulse was racing, "Nothing this bad. That much stress on his economy?"

"He's staging another World War a few years after the first one. Of course, Prussia."

Prussia sat there as Russia began to peel the orange, placing it next to Japan's hand. Prussia rocked on his knees, fidgeting. But he couldn't stay still for long, and he got up and left.

Japan's fingers flexed around the orange, trying unsuccessfully to pick it up. Russia moved it completely into his hand and helped him sit up partially, one hand supporting his back.

Sealand entered the room.

"Prussia said something about him being sick," he said as way of greeting. "How are we supposed to fight when he's like that?"

Russia shrugged and watched as Japan brought the orange to his lips with shaking fingers, biting into it. He let out a long contented sigh, eating with more vigor.

Sealand huffed, coming around to sit by the edge of his bed.

"Well? How are we going to?"

"I guess it's up to him," Russia replied. Japan reached out as Russia gave him another orange, devouring the fruit. Sealand punched a fist into the blankets in frustration.

"Up to him? What is that supposed to mean? If he is out cold, does that mean we cannot fight? I want to fight now!" Sealand snapped, glaring. "So we're just going to have to wait until he's better? I think not! I think we should just leave him and go. He's not strong enough to fight properly anyway, he's too small. I do not understand why he is the leader in this! I should be! I am the biggest and strongest of us all! I think I should be the leader, and I say to leave him to die here! Less in our way!"

"What amazes me," Russia said quietly, in his soft, high tone that signified danger to those who knew him well, "Is that you think at all. I was led otherwise."

Sealand exploded at him, veins popping in his massive muscles.

"You can't deny what I'm saying isn't right! He's incompetent compared to me! In the end, you will be begging me to take over!"

"Your ranting is like a child's," Russia giggled. "Now go out. He's finally sleeping, and I do not need your hulking tantrums to disturb him."

Japan moaned as if to make Russia's point, shifting towards Russia's warmth. He shivered, and Russia laid a hand on his back almost protectively.

"Mark my words," Sealand said darkly, but he stomped out nonetheless, smashing in the door as he left.

Russia tsked as Japan started from the noise, then collapsed back into unconsciousness. He smoothed back Japan's mussed hair, a soft expression coming into his purple eyes.

He leaned down and kissed Japan gently on the lips. There was no reaction. His eyes didn't open.

"That's disgusting!" huffed Sealand, and Russia realized he was still by the door. "Why'd you do that? He's a _guy,_ and you guys hate each other."

Russia stared at him coolly.

"You're young, hmm? You'll understand someday."

Sealand shook his head unbelievingly and left.

Prussia passed by the room, and Russia grabbed him.

"What now?" Prussia growled.

"Nothing much," said Russia. "But would you be kind and grab some more oranges?"

Prussia groaned but did as he was told.

Russia waited until his footsteps disappeared, and laid down next to Japan. He pulled him into his arms against his chest, a hand on his head. Japan murmured and moved his weak arms around Russia's neck.

"Italy…" he breathed softly. Russia kissed his forehead. "I…love you…"

Russia's face was unreadable, and he buried his face in Japan's neck.

"I love you too."

Russia knew Japan wouldn't remember saying anything. And if he did, he would deny it.

"_So…I…sign here?" Japan asked, and Germany nodded. _

_ "I'm sorry about Italy," he sighed, kneading his forehead. "He didn't really introduce himself well."_

_Japan thought back to their meeting yesterday, where Germany had pointed out to a disbelieving Japan the young man across the room talking animatedly to a group of girls and children._

"_That…is not him, surely?" he had asked. "Such improper behavior…"_

_ "It is," sighed Germany. "I am sorry. Excuse me for a minute."_

"_And the pizza was thiiiiis biiiiiig," Italy was saying. "It was the biggest, best, most wonderful pizza ever made in all of Italy, and I had won the contest again—"_

_ "Go greet our host and ally," Germany had ordered, and the group had tittered. "Honestly, how can you be so rude…this is Japan's house, respect his social customs…"_

"_I'm sorry, Germany!" Italy had said cheerfully. Japan had noted with displeasure that he had not seemed very sorry. The Italian had spotted him, hazel eyes going wide. He dashed across the room towards him, about to unleash one of his infamous embraces, but Germany stopped him. The German continued to restrain him, but Italy's spirits had not seemed dampened._

_ "Hi! I'm Italy! Wow, you're even smaller than me! That's adorable! Hey, can you tell Germany to stop choking me? It kind of hurts—"_

"_I-I beg your pardon!" Japan had stammered furiously, flushing. "I am much older than you are!"_

_ "You don't look it. You look around twenty or so! We'll get along great! I love Japanese culture!" then, "Ooow! Germany! Don't punch!"_

_Japan decided not to reflect any longer on their strange meeting and bent over the alliance papers. He signed his name in flowing kanji, feet warm under the kotatsu table. Germany was already lying down, nearly asleep._

_Italy snored lightly, a cat curled into the crook of his arm. Japan frowned at him, chewing the end of the pen. He was certainly among unusual guests here, not to mention Italy puzzled him. He took a orange from the fruit bowl experimentally, balancing it on Italy's head._

_Italy kept right on snoring, and Japan shook his head disapprovingly and left the mandarin orange there, shuffling so he could curl up under the table._

_When he woke up the next morning, the orange had made its way mysteriously to the top of Japan's head, and he never learned how it had gotten there. _

Russia woke up in the middle of the night, and he found Japan wasn't asleep next to him. He went off on a search and found the Asian walking down the hallway with a determined, if slightly off balance, step.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and Japan shivered. He had changed out of his kimono into his ceremonial black uniform, and some of the flush seemed to have left his face.

"I'm getting ready to fly to New York to meet with America."

"You're sick still. You've been out for hours, only eating oranges," said Russia, quirking one eyebrow in surprise.

"No, I feel better now," Japan said tersely, flinching at Russia's palm on his still heated temple. "I gave a little call yesterday. Unfortunately, I fell ill and missed my meeting. Therefore, I am to meet America instead in New York."

"I still don't think you're completely all right," Russia mused. "You still have a fever. It might be better for you to stay here…"

"Why do you care?" Japan snapped, patting down his shirt front. "I thought you were just waiting around for me to die here."

"Hmm, well, I can always wait a little longer for your dying face…"

Japan ignored him and glanced at the clock.

"I have to go. I'll call if I can't get him to surrender. Then you three can meet me in Hawaii."

"I already know," Russia reminded him. "I read your diary, remember?"

Japan groaned.

"Oh _kami,_ is nothing sacred…?"


	37. Chapter 38

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: Motive**

"Coffee?" America offered, sitting stiffly across from Japan.

"Not now," Japan said, waving his hand. He reveled in the discomfort America exhibited and desperately tried to hide, steepling his fingers.

America bit his lip and forced a smile onto his face. But his teeth were clenched. Japan was seated in the plush chair directly across him, dressed in a black navy uniform from his days in the Axis. He couldn't discern the emotions in those dark eyes, and it bothered him.

"I was told," America said, and Japan reached forward and took a sugar cube from the container, "To ask you for your motive in person."

"Were you?" was Japan's only answer, and it took all of America's will to stay focused.

"Yes. So, what is it? Why do you want to get rid of me so badly?"

Japan leaned forward, and America fought the urge to shrink back. England and Japan. Both of those people had been the only ones to make him feel like that, like a child.

"You are honestly wondering why?" Japan said. "I would think you more intelligent than that. But I am older than you, country-wise, anyway. I have seen many wars, I am thousands of years old."

He paused to take another sugar cube, placing it delicately between his pale lips.

"All my life, I have had many opportunities to be happy. Most came from people who promised me something better. My superiors, ordinary people, other countries. Often, they were either lying or couldn't live up to their promise. I took it all, with no hard feelings. I started not to believe them, no matter what anyone told me. I was always going to have war, to have pain, to live alone. I accepted that as my fate and concentrated diligently on becoming a good nation. Strong, without emotions. What use did we have for such things?

"Then Italy. He was strange. What kind of country is always happy no matter what happens to them? I resolved to solve that mystery, and found it was because he had something I was missing. Something we were all missing. He knew how to _live._ And on that boat, he did his best to keep me safe from you, something that touched me. Most other countries would have left me. But not Italy. He stayed with me no matter how dangerous or how scared he became. And then he did it."

Japan paused again to take another sugar cube, and America wondered if he should simply move them out of spite. He chewed and swallowed, then continued.

"He told me he wanted to make me happy, to take me away from everything, to fix everything that was wrong with my cursed life with his own hands. He wanted to keep me safe, just as you did, but in a whole different way. No one had ever said that to me before, and I was hesitant to believe it. What if it was just like all the others? But there was something warm and innocent in the way he spoke, and I gave in. He meant his words with all his heart, and I believed him completely and totally. Then he died. Because we were running from you."

America could see a spark light in Japan's eyes, and he pressed harder into the chair with his back as Japan leaned forwards more.

"Because of you, he died. The last hope, the last light I had for anything close to a normal life was gone. You killed something precious, something innocent and naïve. You murdered the last promise anyone had ever made to me, and it would have been the only one to be carried out to completion if not for you. I had _nothing_ left. _I_ have nothing left. You will die for this, America, and I make you a promise that will not be broken. _I _will be the one to kill you."

He settled back into his chair, face suddenly much darker than when the meeting first started. America took a deep breath, looking down at the carpet. Thoughts roiled in his mind like angry gophers.

"Kiku…"

Japan didn't look up, but his lips thinned slightly. He clutched onto something in his shirt that America couldn't see.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"It doesn't matter what you say now," Japan finally answered. He stood up. "You have already sealed your fate yourself. Your apology is not accepted. Now, I have a proposition for you…"

America felt a sharp pain in his chest at the curt words, but he nodded anyway. Japan opened his shirt and took out some papers. He threw them down on the table, and America picked up the first one in the stack. All of them were already signed in Japan's elegant kanji.

"Surrender papers?"

"Yes," Japan said. "Not for me. You."

America shook his head. "No, I can't! I cannot allow your activities to continue! No surrender!"

"But America, you cannot win," Japa explained patiently. "Not if you are playing by all the rules. We are not, therefore lies your weakness. Surrender now, turn yourself in to me so I can deal with you personally, and every single one of your people is safe. None of them shall be touched. You are all I want. Rest assured you will rise again somehow."

America gaped at him, speechless. Japan coughed, hacking into his sleeve. For a moment, he looked pallid and sick, but the appearance quickly vanished.

"I won't!" America protested, throwing the papers down as he stood up to tower over Japan. "You've got some nerve, Kiku, trying to get me to sign these—"

"Careful," Japan said, pushing away America's hands from his shoulders, "There are security cameras here. You are not allowed to attempt on my life while conducting negotiations. It's the _rules,_ remember?"

America took a shuddering breath. A knife was pressing rather painfully against his jugular.

"Put it down. The _rules_ also say no weapons. We ran security searches on you."

"Indeed the rules say such," Japan said, folding the blade and tucking it back behind his ear. It was small enough to fit behind his earlobe. "But I am not following the _rules_, and therefore have no qualms about stabbing you with that. And _that_ is made of very thin ceramics with inner projectors to fool the X-rays and is small enough to fit behind my teeth during a cursory search. It was not discovered even when your guards ordered a strip search. Courtesy of Russia-san."

"I'm going now," America muttered, turning on his heel. "I have to go visit _my brother in the hospital_."

Japan remained where he was, cocking his head. He gave a little smile that reminded America of Russia.

"Do you know what else is courtesy of Russia?" he said quietly. America's phone began to ring, and he picked it up, feeling a sense of dread. He gasped and dropped the phone as the words came over the line, words he did not want to hear. He whirled on Japan.

"_What did you do?"_ he yelled, grabbing the smaller man by his collar. Japan merely smiled.

"I didn't do it," he said, shrugging a little. "It was all _courtesy of Russia._"

"You fired on San Francisco?" America continued to shout, shaking him. "There are forty dead and counting because of that little missile!"

"Then guard your technology more," Japan said calmly. "Russia has ample knowledge of your nuclear weapons. That was your own fault. Not mine. _Follow the rules, Alfred._"

He pulled himself away from America, stepping back. He gave a little mocking salute before heading down the stairs.

"Goodbye, America. Until we meet again, hopefully on the field of battle. I'd watch Pearl Harbor all over if I was you."

"I _hate you,_" America hissed. Japan raised an eyebrow.

"So do I. I cannot say anything less of you, either. The dreams will come, Alfred. Just you wait."

And he left then, leaving America to wonder what he had meant exactly by that.


	38. Chapter 39

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Once More**

_The young man looked up at him with wide green eyes that did nothing to disguise his hatred. His chin was raised in defiance, but Francis could see his chest rising up and down with all the rapidity of a rabbit caught in fear. The man was young, too young to be surrounded by the bodies of his companions. He could see the tears forming at the corner of his eyes and at the edge of his pronounced eyebrows._

_He raised the Norman flag and brought it down, driving the point into his chest. It sank in easily, deep into the soft white flesh. His eyes widened in shock and pain, tears coming down his cheeks. His mouth opened as blood spurted from his lips, and the flag's sharpened end came to rest next to his heart._

"_It is unfortunate thee hast lost," Francis remarked. The young man made no sound, and blood coursed thickly over his soft breeches and shirt. It soaked into the grass and thirsty earth. His eyes locked and glazed onto Francis, and there was such a pure look of hate it disquieted him._

_He got onto his horse and rode away, not glancing back, but the man's peridot eyes haunted him until he accidentally crossed over enemy lines and was shot down with a bow…._

France opened his blue eyes.

That was the strangest dream he had had in a long time. But it was not the first of its kind. He sat up, running a hand through thick blond hair. He scratched absently at his stubbled chin and got out of bed.

Even as he shaved over the sink, afterimages continued to pulse in his mind. Grass…blood…and eyes that were like emeralds with burning hate…

He tapped out his razor and set it off to the side, walking out and rummaging through his dresser. He pulled out a thick photo album, flicking through it.

His world had seemed less grand and romantic ever since England and Italy died. He would never admit it, but the death of his old enemy had considerably dulled his everyday life. Now he had no one to irritate or fight with constantly, and no one to chastise him for everything he did. There was no point in finding endless ways to bother the other countries or mail roses randomly to the others just for the heck of it

. And now that Italy was gone, there was absolutely no one who would listen to his talk of fashion, fine food, and beauty. He had lost the few people who could tolerate him.

He found the page where he had collected the few photographs of England. There was not many, and those that were there had prominent frowns or hands raised in furious protest.

England's eyes were a cold green, his lips set in a petulant refusal of a smile. This particular one had been taken during the Christmas party of last year, and France smirked as he remembered how much he had annoyed England that day. It was definitely a good memory.

He froze as his fingers gripped to turn the page. Green eyes. He could still recall snatches of his dream, and the man had had emerald eyes with blond hair. He assured himself it was not the same person, but nevertheless, there had been no one else who could fix him with such a look of hate. He fought the urge to retch as he recollected the feel and smell of blood, metallic.

No, it was not the same person. How could it be? He had been born during the Norman invasion as a child, and had encountered England as a sullen toddler who dabbled in magic. England had not been yet fully grown then. It was not England. There was no way it could be.

Scotland and Ireland had been his brothers then, pushing him around frequently. France shuddered as he remembered the child England asking in his innocent voice.

_What is death, Brother Scotland? What is this death my people speak of?_

And Scotland's chilling smile.

_Let me show you firsthand, dear little brother…_

He shook his head to clear it and closed the book abruptly. He was about to turn around but felt a familiar tingle in his back.

Someone was watching him. He whirled around, and found nothing. Then, someone whispered into his ear, flawless French with an exotic twist.

"_Bonjour, Monsier France,_" it breathed, and Japan dropped from the dresser behind him.

"What are you doing here?" France said, narrowing his eyes. He wondered how the man had even entered his residence without detection. Japan looked him over calmly.

"I'm here to end you, of course," Japan said. "One less ally for America."

France felt numb as Japan slid out his sword. He backed away, surreptitiously reaching behind to the fireplace.

"You don't have to kill me," France stalled. "I'm basically useless…not to mention we have barely interacted during meetings, so I have done nothing to you personally…"

"It matters nothing to me what you have done," Japan informed him. "I only want America. And if this what it takes…goodbye, France."

His words were sharp and short.

"How did you get past security, anyway?" France asked as his fingers brushed the mantelpiece, locking onto what he needed. "I have it rather heavy here. It is my main home after all."

"Simple," Japan said. "But there is no need to explain it to you. You are already dead."

France gripped the ancient rapier and swung, and Japan dodged at the last minute, flipping backwards. France thrusted again, coming forward. Japan twisted his hips fluidly, effectively avoiding the strike.

France came in close, taking hold of Japan's hands so he was forced to drop the sword. He pinned him to the wall.

"I'm deeply sorry, Japan," he panted, bringing the rapier back, "But you attacked me first, in my own home, and whatever happens next here is your fault alone."

Japan struggled, wrists aching and feet hanging in France's grip. He threw him a cool stare that sent a foreboding chill down his spine.

"Do you really think I came alone?"

France paused to process the information, and he was acutely aware of the shadow Russia and Sealand cast over him.

"Hello," Russia said cheerfully.

France swung out in desperation, and the blade sank into Japan's side. Japan fixed him with a look of horror and pain, sinking down the wall.

What happened next was a blur. Russia smashed France in the gut with his fist, and Sealand leered. Japan gave a little cry of pain, hands clutching around his wound. While Prussia and Sealand worked on subdueing France, Russia came over.

Japan squeezed his eyes shut, unable to articulate through the haze of pain. A shadow fell over him, and he moaned.

_No. Go away._

Russia understood the meaning of his words, but he bent down anyway.

"Did you get hurt?"

Japan groaned again, feeling tears prick his eyes. Russia laughed.

"R-Russia…" Japan tried. "I…th-thought I told y-you to…c-c-ome s-sooner…"

"Oh, I was," Russia told him happily. "I was here when you first surprised him. I just decided to wait for a few minutes. You are _very_ entertaining."

Japan gave an angry little kick, but it was weak and only served to further aggravate his pain. He threw his head back, gasping.

"Ah…ah…it hurts…"

Russia smiled and reached out, tenderly brushing the stab wound. Japan screamed in pain, breaking down into sobs. It wasn't a deep injury, but it hurt badly. The large man tsked and slid his arms around his small body, lifting him up.

"Thank goodness we're fused, right? At least your little cut will heal within a few hours. Unfortunately for you, it will only work if you stay close to me. I can always wait a little longer to see your dying face. Here we go, then!"

Japan's shaking hands wrapped around his neck for support, and his facial expression tickled Russia communist pink. Hot tears were streaming down his cheekbones, and his lip was curled in slight revulsion. Overall, it was rather pathetic to Russia, not to mention amusing.

Impulsively, he let Japan fall, catching him at the last minute. Japan gave a cry, clutching onto his jacket with white knuckles.

"Ooops, my hands slipped…." Russia said gleefully, and Japan buried his face in the material.

"J-just deploy it a-as soon as we are…out…"

Russia motioned to Sealand and Prussia, beckoning them over. They left France on the floor covered with bruises.

"Yes, _sir_," Russia said mockingly, pressing the button as soon as they had cleared the area.

He made it a gloating game to poke his fingers into the healing wound as much as possible as they headed back to base.

France breathed raggedly, unable to move. He was beaten and battered, but at least they had left. He sat up with an effort, grinning through the pain.

Yes, the great France had scared them into leaving. They wouldn't come back, he was sure of it. America would be glad to hear it, and maybe they could cut them off in time. At least, he hoped so.

He reached a hand out for his phone, but his hand froze halfway there.

An envelope was resting on the phone handle, and France grabbed it, tearing into the paper.

"_Oh my God,_" he breathed. He held the photo up close with trembling fingers. A child. It was an image of a small child with blonde hair and bright green eyes. He was only around four, sitting on a grassy mound and stringing daisy chains.

_I taught him to string those,_ France thought affectionately. Then, _England lives! He's back! I can't believe it…he came back at last…he didn't disappear…_

Then he caught sight of the other object on the phone. There was a strange device attached to it, and it was counting down.

_Zero._


	39. Chapter 40

**Chapter Forty: Ascension**

Japan clung silently to Russia's jacket, feeling the stab wound beginning to dissipate. No one said anything, not even as they walked away from France's house.

He was nearly asleep, lulled by the walking motions and the sound of Russia's cold breath. The fabric was warm against his nose, and he thought sleepily how strange it was that Russia was warm with such an icy demeanor…

Then someone poked at the cut unmercifully, and he opened his mouth in a choked yelp.

"S-stop it!"

Russia giggled, and Japan came to completely. He pushed at Russia's broad chest and slipped down to the ground.

"I can walk by myself!" he said sternly. "My wound will heal in time by itself!"

Russia shrugged.

"You speak as if I care."

Japan winced as he took a step, but his balance held. Prussia looked back at the road behind them, silently contemplating. Sealand kept pausing to pick up pebbles, tossing them like a child. One of them clipped Japan on the side of his head, and he groaned.

"Keep it down, Sealand-kun."

Sealand laughed, and he continued to throw the little rocks, though not in Japan's direction.

Prussia broke the silence first.

"I'm not old, am I?"

Japan didn't bother turning around, not breaking his stride.

"Prussia-kun, you are much younger than I am. I am the oldest in this group. Do not worry yourself about it."

Prussia looked down.

"N-no, I'm not worried or anything, because I am awesome now and forever, just…I'm not a real nation anymore. I don't know what to think nowadays….what will happen to me, you know? It's been a few decades…since I was recognized…"

"It is going to be fine," Japan replied, aware that Prussia rarely opened himself up to anyone, so his talk was of great concern. "You will live for many more years."

"Not like this. This war is gonna to do me in. It's gonna do us all in, isn't it, Japan?"

Japan finally stopped. So did Sealand.

"I don't wanna die," Sealand said, as if the idea had only first struck him.

Japan reached up his hand as high as it would go, placing it on Sealand's shoulder.

"You will not. None of you will. I will make sure of it myself, all right?" he said, trying his best to shoot Russia a withering look as the nation snickered behind his hand.

Sealand nodded, but he didn't look reassured. He shuffled dejectedly ahead as they began walking again.

Russia came up behind him and leaned close to Japan's ear.

"I never knew what a _liar_ you were….lying to a mere child…I'd say your cruelty knows no bounds…you are indeed _Japan_…"

Japan smacked him away.

"You know the truth. Isn't that all that matters to you? Leave the matter alone."

"Yes, we will all die," said Russia, and he seemed greatly entertained. He giggled in his disturbingly high-pitched way. "You can't go on, so you are going to kill everyone on this earth and then yourself. You know, I do have some experience in therapy and counseling, I dabbled in it in the twenties…"

"I don't need you," Japan snapped.

Russia smiled in his chilling way, and didn't answer back.

Prussia lay awake in his pallet, trying to think.

Thinking was definitely something he did not do very often, he admitted. As a result, his head was now aching. He tossed and turned, staring at Sealand's broad back. It seemed such a short time ago that Sealand had been nothing but a small boy…it seemed nearly impossible that he had grown so fast. Prussia wondered if he had ever evolved so quickly.

Lately he was being plagued by thoughts of his life. He had lived for a long time, almost as long as Russia. He had been dissolved for a long while now, and it was strange to be looked down on by the other countries. He shivered as he thought of Rome, the country they had all wanted to be someday.

The man had grown tall and strong, coming to rule over them all. They had envied his strength and apparent happiness…

Then one day, he was gone. Vanished. He had left without a single word, leaving Italy to fend for himself.

Prussia knew what had happened. _He disappeared,_ said the silent voices of the rising nations. _Remember you will too, someday…_

And that was what Prussia was afraid of. He didn't want to die. Not yet. He had too much to do, too much to prove.

He turned, looking across to the empty beds next to the kotatsu. Russia and Japan were outside, on the porch and talking. Prussia frowned and flopped onto his sheet, closing his eyes and trying to go to sleep.

"The natiomortinium is gone," Russia informed him.

Japan dangled his legs over the side of the porch, absently fingering one of the wilted cherry blossoms that were falling. He sighed and looked up at the moonless sky.

"I know that. But we cannot let the Allies know. It was our greatest weapon. Sealand would give us more, but his people are in the midst of civil war. The miners are on strike, and they refuse his orders. Do not allow this information to get out."

Russia nodded, craning his head back to observe the faint stars.

"Do you think America has any backup natiomortinium? Surely he would have some in reserve…"

Japan smiled softly.

"We will find out, won't we?"

And that was that.

_He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't._

_He could hear the flames crackling, consuming the paper screen doors. How could his shogun betray him like this?_

_He was his best samurai, the one who had fought in many battles for him, the only one to confront the strange Italian explorers when they had stumbled onto their shores…_

_Is this how he repayed him? He knew deep inside that he should accept whatever his beloved shogun gave him, but this was too far._

_He thinks I am too friendly with the Italians, he realized bitterly as the screen curled and scorched. Feliciano did not arrive in a shipwreck as the sole survivor. My shogun must have killed the others…and he survived…_

_Feliciano._

_He was still in the other room, fast asleep. The fire spread quickly, devouring the walls. Japan stumbled as a section came off, coming to burn the wooden floor. He held his breath and crawled through the burning door, dashing through before it collapsed behind him. _

_Feliciano was awake now, and he seemed frozen with terror. He had fallen asleep with his sketch papers all around him, curled up in one of Japan's borrowed kimonos._

_He reached out to him, coughing in the thick smoke. His accented voice soared in pitch and fear._

_ "Kiku! Kiku! T-tasukete!"_

_He locked hands with him, now crying in sheer fright. Kiku stood, doing his best to drag him up with one of his sleeves over his mouth to filter the foul air._

_The house groaned, bright flames now cascading across the beamed ceiling. Kiku took a deep breath and ran, coming to one of the opposite windows. He tore at the wood with his nails, trying desperately to widen the gap so they could both fit. The fire widened relentlessly, and Feliciano clung to his shoulder, letting out a scream as the fire licked at his clothes._

_His vision was blurry, and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears. A beam fell in a blaze, and Kiku pushed Feliciano out of the way._

"_Go," he choked, pushing Feliciano towards the window. "Leave."_

_ "No!" Feliciano sobbed. "I'm staying right here!"_

"_I'll…follow you," Kiku whispered, continuing to push him. "I'm coming…just go."_

_Tears mixed in with the sweat on Feliciano's face as he shook his head. _

"_I'm staying!"_

_He screamed and dove out of the way as another beam crashed. The smoke was almost too thick to see in, and then he caught sight of Kiku's limp form crushed under the wooden rafter. His brown eyes were wide, and blood trickled from his mouth. The Italian screamed again and jumped back, coughing. He ran forward, rolling the smoldering shaft off him with all his strength._

_He pulled his body to the window, which now was ablaze on the edges. Nothing was recognizable, and he felt faint…_

…_He couldn't remember how he had gotten onto the grass path outside of Kiku's garden. Feliciano hacked, lungs still full of smoke. He looked across blearily to his hand, which was still locked firmly in Kiku's…_

_The thin white hand had a stream of blood running down it, and he looked up. His kimono was burned and charred, and it clung to equally burned skin on his legs. His eyes were closed, lips cracked in heat while blood coated his left cheek. It matted his hair, and Feliciano could feel the warm blood spreading onto the grass from his torso. Feliciano scrambled to get a hold on his wrist, and a scream was ripped from his throat._

_There was no pulse…_

Japan opened his eyes, looking out at the trees. It was the middle of the night, cool wind coursing through the sky.

He hadn't told anyone of the dreams he had begun to have. He knew well what they meant by now. Instead of being afraid, he only felt relieved.

Japan reached into his shirt and pulled out the locket. He brought it to his cheek, feeling the cold metal, and he allowed his lips to curl into a small smile.

"I will be there soon," he murmured.


	40. Chapter 41

**Chapter Forty-One: Red Sun**

_One month later_

_Pearl Harbor, 1954_

When the first bomb detonated, it took the entire base in a blink of an eye.

All America could do was watch as soldiers yelled and died, blown apart by the nuclear blast. He felt helpless…Russia had nuclear weapons, just as he did…

One month ago Japan had warned him about Pearl Harbor, and he had dutifully set up every bit of arsenal he had. Every gun, every plane, every bomb…he knew for a fact it was where Japan would strike.

The New Axis had pounded at the US, sending in everything America had thought impossible. People were fleeing the cities, and New York was nearly deserted from the bombfires and blasts.

It turned out it was nothing against their sheer force…he clung to his gun as planes screamed overhead. Everything seemed unreal, as if this was all some movie, and someone had set it to fast-forward…

"_Stop it!" _he yelled, falling to his knees as the shrieks of the dying reached him. _"No…more…"_

Nothing answered him, only the tinny ringing in his ears as bomb after bomb blew up.

This film was not going to have a happy ending.

There was almost no one left. Japan stepped through the trenches, picking his way over the fallen bodies. He felt numb and detached as he continued on, Russia like a silent shadow behind him.

The flickering of the bombs in the distance cast him in an eerie orange glow. Japan knew his people were dying and falling fast in the battle, but so was America's.

He didn't care if he won or not. He wasn't going to be around long enough to find out.

"Sealand!" he shouted over the clamor. The large man caught his eye and nodded to show his comprehension, breaking into a run towards the burning base. The night sky was ablaze with the fires.

_This is where it ends,_ he thought, clenching his fists. _This is where it all ends, for all of us._

He could dimly hear the sounds of Prussia crying behind him, the battlefield too much for him.

"I'm going to die, I'm going to die," he kept repeating over and over again like a mantra. His red eyes looked wildly around at the dead. "I'm going to die…"

He trembled, staying where he was, clinging to his gun.

"Japan?" he called out tentatively. The man kept on walking, ignoring him. Prussia took a step forward anxiously, sobbing with fear.

"Japan? I don't wanna die…help me, help me, please…"

A gunshot granted his worst fear, shooting from a sniper's rifle in the trenches. The bullet sank into his heart with terrifying accuracy. Prussia stopped right where he was, falling over without a single word into the dirt.

Japan kept on walking even as Prussia collapsed behind him, focused only on one thing. Russia picked out the sniper easily, shooting him where he crouched in the blood-streaked mud before he could react.

America bent down, cocking his gun. Bombs were going off all around him, and the sounds of the dying resounded numbly in his ears. The gun in his hands trembled with fatigue as he squinted through mud-splattered glasses at the field.

A shell went off not far from where he was, but he barely flinched. All his sight was focused on the small but grimly resolute man in a white navy uniform coming his way.

He picked around the corpses emotionlessy, passing over Prussia's body like it was nothing. The white of the uniform was glaringly bright, standing out on the dark mounds. Did he want to die, being such a perfect target…?

_He looks like an angel,_ America thought bitterly, gaze hardening. _A devil in white robes, an angel of death…_

The sky and sea were ink black with the smothering smoke. America lifted his gun, sighting down it, preparing to fire…

"Greetings, America-san."

The voice was coldly polite, coming from directly behind America. The nation scrambled up to his full height, still holding out his gun in defense.

He had imagined this meeting, replayed it so many times in his head. But from the start it was nothing like he had thought it would be. Just two weeks ago England had been hit with a devastating bomb…it had happened all over again for him…

Nothing like it, always.

"Kiku…" he stuttered. Japan stepped forward, completely expressionless. His samurai sword swung fluidly out of his sheath. Russia tittered not far off, watching the entire proceedings.

"_Why did you do this?_" America yelled angrily, gesturing to all the destruction before him. Japan didn't answer him, only giving his ever-silent reply.

His breath hitched in shock as the sharp sword pierced his flesh, sliding with terrible ease through his uniform and lodging in his ribs.

The pain was staggering and mind-clouding. But the look in Japan's eyes hurt worse than any weapon.

He fell to his knees, choking on his own blood as Japan twisted the handle, shooting out a hand to lift him by a fistful of blond hair.

"This…" Japan drove it in deeper, leaning down to whisper hissingly in his ear. "…is for then. For everything. In life as in war, America-san."

America's blood dripped thickly onto the dead, dry dirt. He fell forward in a daze of pain as Japan yanked out the sword contemptuously.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the nation departing, leaving him where he was.

His shaking hands slid down painfully towards his holster.

Pain…

It pounded in his brain, and Japan's leaving seemed to take agonizing years. The gun found its way into his hands.

America coughed up blood onto his shirt, and Japan paused with his back still to America. He turned his dark head, brown eyes shaded with nameless emotion.

"America-san," he said quietly. Bombs were exploding around them still, but America was deaf to all else but Japan.

"I—"

America pulled the trigger, and Japan's fragile body jerked unnaturally, gunshot echoing. His eyes widened in pain, and his hand reached up to delicately brush the wide circle of blood spreading on his white shirt.

Dark red, like the sun of the Japanese flag. America saw a glint of gold fall to the ground.

It was a shattered, engraved locket. The chain slithered off with a barely audible tinkle.

Japan's knees buckled, and Russia rushed forward to catch him. Another bullet found its mark in Russia's breastbone as America let the gun fall from his hands.

"_Kiku!_" he yelled.

Russia gasped and stumbled as the bullet entered his body, and his hand shot out reflexively to grab Japan as he fell. They both fell to the ground in a heap.

Japan was gasping irregularly, face screwed up in pain. Russia tried to ignore the feel of hot blood spilling from his collar, pulling Japan up in a half-sitting position. His head lolled back, breathing labored.

America reached out, crying. The fingers of his brown gloves were stained red with his blood.

"I'm sorry, I'm s-s-sorry…I'm sorry…for everything…"

Japan lifted a hand to block America's with surprising speed, pushing it as far away as possible.

"D-don't…touch me," he snapped, and America pulled back, still crying brokenly.

He turned his head away from America, closing his eyes.

"Ivan…" he panted, and Russia nodded and edged closer despite the pain. "I want to go home…"

Russia blinked at the strange words, not comprehending.

"Home? Do you mean your home? The one we stayed at?"

"…Yes. Now."

Russia bit his lip, already feeling lightheaded from the loss of blood. He pondered on what to say, and Japan gasped shallowly in his arms.

"Th-that's an order…"

"All right," Russia lied, and his throat felt unusually tight. "I'll take you there. Just wait a bit, all right?"

Japan nodded, eyes closed. His knuckles were white from clinging so hard to Russia's hand, and he hacked in every breath.

America forced himself forward, throwing out his own hand and taking Japan's. Japan didn't say anything, only sighed and let his head fall back as America's breathing ceased next to him.

His hands went limp, face becoming tranquil as his respiration slowed then stopped completely. His eyes flew open, glassy and staring into Russia's. He smiled softly, and then his whole body relaxed.

The constant smile from Russia's face was gone as he gazed into Japan's lifeless face. There was no trace of amusement in his expression, only faint sadness. He pulled his small body closer to him, laying his head down and closing his eyes. Unconsciousness took him, and he could see through blurry eyes the base in the distance begin to glow. Sealand was carrying out his orders, just as Japan had told him to. It was unfortunate he didn't know the consequences of his obedience…

_That light is beautiful,_ he thought hazily as he clung onto Japan's still-warm body. The light expanded then exploded in a nuclear blast, and everything in the world they knew was enveloped and incinerated…


	41. Chapter 42

**Chapter Forty-Two: Heaven**

Japan was warm, and something wet was lapping his heels softly. He was more comfortable than he had ever been in a long time…happy even…

Happy?

He sat up, feeling for his chest. No blood. No bullet wound. He was dressed in his old blue kimono, and his cheek had been resting on sand. His locket, now complete again, was cool against his chest.

Where was he?

He stood up, a sea breeze ruffling his now clean black hair. A white beach stretched for as far as he could see, and blue sky and sea sparkled in the brilliant sun.

If he squinted, he could see a black rock in the distance. It looked just like a certain tapestry…

"Hello?" he called. No one answered him.

A hand touched his shoulder gently, and he turned around.

"Hi," Russia said softly, and the smile was real on his face. He spoke almost dreamily, as if intoxicatedly happy. Japan opened his mouth to talk back, confused, but Russia walked away from him and headed into the trees.

Japan followed, trying to keep up. The trees opened up, revealing a clearing. He staggered back, shocked as grass tickled his feet.

_It's…so beautiful here…_

Russia was sitting in the middle of a field of sunflowers, smiling and talking to China. Lithuania and Poland were next to him, stringing sunflowers. The fear was gone from their faces, and they seemed to be at ease next to him.

A small curly-headed boy looked up at Japan, then got up and stuck out his hand in offering.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Latvia. Are you Japan?"

"Yes," he replied, not sure of what else to say. "Wh-what is this place? How come I'm not dead?..."

Latvia smiled at him and stood up on tiptoe, placing a yellow flower in Japan's ear.

"Keep walking," he said, and he went back to Russia. Russia waved at him, content, the family he had always wanted around him.

Japan made his way out of the field, coming out onto a path bordered by berry and rose bushes. He could hear laughter farther down, and he followed it.

England was walking in the opposite direction, beaming. He was holding America's hand as France and Canada walked beside him.

Japan called out to them, but it was if they couldn't hear him at all. As if they were in a bubble of their own, oblivious to anything else. Canada turned his head and met his eyes. His blue eyes were unfocused slightly, and he broke stride to come over to Japan's side.

"What is this place?" Japan asked. Canada shrugged, seemingly completely relaxed. His usual aloofness and shyness was gone from his gestures.

"Just keep walking," he murmured, then ran back as England laughingly called him back.

Japan kept on going, one foot after the other. The path twisted and turned as he made his way down it, and he followed it for many hours. There was no way to tell how far he was walking, but he never felt tired. It felt as though he could walk forever and ever.

He pressed on, coming to a stretch with snow and ice. There was a little wooden house off to the side, and he could see the orange flicker of a fireplace inside. A small white dog barked playfully at him, and a beige-haired young man came up to him.

"Finland?" Japan said hesitantly, and the man grinned at him. He was dressed in a heavy sweater against the cold, but Japan couldn't feel it.

"Keep going," he laughed, grabbing his dog and running back to his house."You don't want to be late, do you? Come on, Hanatamago!"

The house's door opened, and Sweden motioned Finland in, nodding in Japan's direction.

The dog yipped and followed, and Japan was once again left without any answers. He began to walk more, not knowing what else to do.

The snow cleared, and Japan was aware it was nearly sundown. Wherever the path was headed, he needed to stop soon.

On his way, he could make out many more people he didn't approach. Most he didn't recognize, but he thought he saw the soldier he had killed in the Statue of Liberty walk by holding the hand of a child and a pregnant woman.

Soon the number of people he saw diminished, and eventually he was left all alone on the path. There was grass under his feet, dark emerald green. Trees shaded his way, silhouetted by the setting sun.

Japan came to another field, and it was sowed with grapevines and tomatoes and fragrant plants. His heart quickened as he saw that a few of them were planted upside down and sideways. Familiar…it was familiar…

He broke into a run, racing through the vegetation. There was a house up ahead, gleaming orange in the red light. Spain and Romano were painting the side, laughing together. Romano seemed to have lost his customary moodiness, and was talking jovially to Spain.

Japan kept back, suddenly afraid. What if what he wanted wasn't there? What if he was wrong?

What if none of this was real? Maybe he was only dreaming…

A young man came out from the door, wiping his forehead free of sweat. He lay down the shovel in his hand, looking up with topaz eyes. There was a memorable, innocent shine in them, and Japan realized with a pang he had almost forgotten how they had looked.

They met Japan's, and Japan remained frozen where he was.

_It's not real, it's not real, it's not real…_

Italy's face broke into a smile, a little too wide and a bit lopsided, but it was the most beautiful thing Japan had ever seen.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had run all the way down the hill, slipping and sliding and falling into Italy's arms.

He started to cry, shaking and trembling as he clung to his shirt. It was warm, it _was_ real…

Italy patted him gently.

"I was waiting for you, Kiku…don't cry, please, you can stay here…_please don't cry…_"

"_I killed people,_" Japan sobbed, burying his head in the crook of his neck. He shook, as though the full extent of what he had done had only just hit him. "I…_killed everyone t-to get here…I'm sorry…I shouldn't even be here…"_

"It was a bad dream," Italy said, drawing him in closer. "Just forget about it. Here you can do anything you want. Everyone's fine now. Everyone's human here."

Japan hiccupped, nodding as Italy wiped away his tears with tender fingers.

Italy took his hand and pulled him into the house. Every wall was covered with mosaics of every kind, spiraling into the ceiling.

Japan's breath caught as he looked around. There was pictures of the sea and forest, and some mountains green with trees. It was hard to believe they were only tiles. An all too familiar sketch was hanging in a little glass frame on the far wall.

"It's…_gorgeous..._"

Italy laughed lightly, and Japan could feel his heart relax. He noticed a golden locket hanging out of Italy's shirt, just like his own.

Italy took his hand in both of his, startling him from his thoughts.

"Kiku…do you want to stay here forever? With me? There are other places here…in case you don't want to…"

Japan could feel the tears coming again, coursing down his face. People came out of the recesses of the house. Everyone he had ever known in life stood before him, calm and at peace.

"F-Feliciano…"

America smiled at him from the corner of the room, and Japan realized everyone was smiling at him now. It didn't seem real. It seemed too good to be true…

Italy looked up at him, awaiting his reply. Japan beamed and sank down on his knees, smiling through his tears of joy.

"…_Yes._ Always."

He wrapped his arms around Feliciano, and everyone around him shouted and applauded.

This _was_ his family. He had always had one all along. Why had he never seen it? Russia clapped, and Prussia hugged Hungary in ectasy.

Japan cried harder, holding Feliciano so hard he thought he would burst. No more was he Japan, and neither was anyone else. He was only Kiku Honda. Himself and nothing else.

And he was happy.


	42. Chapter 43

**Chapter Forty-Three: Love**

**AN:**** A sort of bonus chapter. Because I felt so bad for the lack of Itapan ACTIONZ /shot**

The bedroom was just as beautiful as the rest of the house. Every wall was tiled or painted a tawny brown that reminded Japan of the beach.

It still seemed so strange to him, so unreal. It was still so unbelievable that he was here with Italy…no, Feliciano. There were no more countries anymore. He had to keep reminding himself that.

The pillow was cool against his cheek, and Feliciano's strong body was curled around him protectively. His arm rested on his shoulders.

"I'm happy you're here with me," Feliciano murmured. "It took too long."

Kiku was close enough to discern each and every one of Feliciano's reddish-brown eyelashes.

"Me too…"

A warm hand cupped his cheek.

"I can see the color of your eyes," Feliciano said. "They're not black…just a very dark brown. There's spots of violet in there too."

"Your eyes are gold," responded Kiku. "Golden hazel with green flecks."

The Italian smiled. He leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on his cheekbone. A flush came up almost instantly on Kiku's face.

"Wh-what was that?" he demanded. "Feliciano! Answer me—"

Soft lips pressed onto his own, silencing his words. It felt…nice. He lifted his arms and hugged Feliciano's neck, locking their mouths closer. They breathlessly pulled away after a long minute.

"Tastes sweet…" Feliciano giggled, placing a finger on Kiku's bottom lip. He nuzzled into the side of his neck.

Kiku closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. He didn't remove his arms from their place.

"Feliciano."

"I…I want to make you even happier," Feliciano mumbled shyly. "I want to make you feel good, I want to hear my name over and over again... C-can I?"

He gazed into Kiku's eyes, hands stroking his collarbone. Kiku sighed, turning his head so his dark hair fell onto the pillow.

"All right," he murmured quietly. He blushed deeper, and Feliciano beamed. He fingered the neck of his kimono, pulling it down a few inches to reveal white smooth skin.

He lapped at the hollow of his throat, kissing and licking with reverence. As he went, he slid off the fabric more. Kiku twitched a little, tilting his head back.

"Ah…ahnn…"

"Kiku…tastes good…"

The kimono finally slipped all the way off, only hanging by his shoulders. Feliciano reached up to gently rub at his pink nipples, tongue at his belly.

Kiku squirmed, mouth falling open to emit a low moan. Feliciano unzipped his pants, clambering on top of him. He lifted his legs, and Kiku let out a soft gasp as Feliciano lowered his head and licked gently at his erection.

"Nngh…mm…aah…Feliciano!"

"I love you, Kiku…you're so beautiful, inside and out…"

"Wait..wh-what are you doing now—"

Something warm and wet circled his entrance, pushing its way in. Feliciano's breath was moist, and Kiku moaned louder, becoming lost in the sensation.

His tongue plunged in, tasting Kiku's own tight heat. He pulled out, licking his lips as he did so, and Kiku whimpered at the loss.

"All of you tastes nice…delicious, everywhere."

Feliciano smiled, giving a quick kiss on his cheek. He brought fingers to Kiku's mouth, sliding them in. Kiku made a sound, reaching up to clasp his wrist. He licked hungrily at the fingers, coating them in wet saliva.

Feliciano impatiently yanked them out, bringing them down to his needy penis. He bit back a moan as he slicked himself. Kiku reached up to grip his shoulders, willingly spreading his legs to allow Feliciano access. His hips writhed desperately, eyes half-lidded.

"I-I want..h-hurry…"

"Y-you're gorgeous, Kiku…I love you so much…"

"You too—_aaagh..._"

Feliciano positioned himself, slowly pushing in. He panted, throwing his head back.

"Oh my G-God…you feel…nngh…so good, Kiku…"

Kiku couldn't answer, only whine in soft pain and pleasure as Feliciano set up a quick pace. All he could feel was Feliciano's body gliding in and out of him so fast it was as if they were one. Feliciano hit a spot buried deep in his insides, and he arched back and let out a shuddering cry.

"F-Feliciano!"

"Aaah, Kiku, y-you're clenching s-so tightly!~"

Kiku let out a strangled scream, hot fluid spreading on his stomach as he twisted back in ecstasy. Feliciano followed suit, and Kiku jerked at the strange sensation of the heat entering his body.

They lay in each others arms, hearts pounding and breathing suddenly loud in the all too quiet room.

"That was really nice," Feliciano whispered, kissing Kiku's forehead. He cuddled into him.

"I should take a shower."

"Hmm…_"_

"'Hmm' what?"

"Well…" Feliciano blushed, snuggling close. "Can we go again first?"

Kiku's eyes widened angrily. "You are not serious? We just—_hey!_"

Feliciano laughed, voice high and innocent as ever as he lightly lifted him into a sitting position.

"_Ti amo!_"


End file.
